


A Revolution Christmas Carol

by MDRevolutionFan



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:58:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2842145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDRevolutionFan/pseuds/MDRevolutionFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 1 AU loosely based on Dickens's "A Christmas Carol" with Charloe thrown in ;)<br/>Was watching Scrooge the other day (the one with Albert Finney -- don't worry, this isn't a musical) and got inspired to write a Revolution version.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scrooge & Marley (& Associates)

**Author's Note:**

> Background: Miles was shot by one of Monroe's men right after that swordfight in 1.10 (sorry, but Miles represents Jacob Marley, so he had to be dead, but because he represents JM, he's not gone). Charlie, Rachel, and Danny were recaptured before they could make it out of the power plant and were brought back to Monroe in time to see Miles shot. Shortly after, Monroe made Charlie marry him (to further keep Rachel in line).  
> The events of 1.15 didn't happen, so Emma's still alive and Bass doesn't know about Connor, but the assassination attempt in 1.17 still happened, so poor Jeremy is dead, and so are Aaron and Nora (having been killed in one of Bass's attacks on the rebel bases after they made it out of the power plant). But since this is "A Christmas Carol", none of them are really gone either ;)

 

 

Sebastian Monroe stood just inside the doorway of the small maintenance workshop he'd had set aside for Rachel Matheson.  He'd come to hate visiting her and did so as little as possible anymore, but it had become necessary to check up on her.  He'd been getting complaints from Randall Flynn that she wasn't finishing repairs fast enough, so in his desire to avoid seeing her, he'd made several attempts over the past few days to motivate her indirectly.  First, he'd had her CD player taken away, leaving the CDs behind for the sight of them to taunt her.  When that didn't work, he ordered the woodstove removed from the workshop, hoping the cold of Philadelphia in December would get her to work faster so she'd be allowed to leave sooner, but that hadn't worked either.  Not even the looming presence of the guards constantly watching her; who were _obviously_ tired of being cold, got her to work faster.  _He_ was already tired of it and he'd only been in the room for a minute!  He'd finally realized he would need to be more direct if he wanted to motivate Rachel Matheson, hence this 'visit'.

Monroe had his arms crossed over his chest, watching Rachel repairing an amplifier; slowly.  The five he had kept breaking down since they'd been made from parts that'd sat around fifteen-plus years collecting dust since the Blackout, and he'd made it her job to keep them and all the gadgets Flynn and his team provided him with up and running.  With the arrival of Flynn and John Sanborn and the others they'd brought, he didn't need Rachel anymore, and he certainly didn't trust her with any new projects.  But he did need her to ensure Charlotte didn't try to leave him, so Rachel would just have to do menial tasks until he figured out something else for her to do.

He was eager to begin conquering the other Republics and needed all his amplifiers ready to go at a moment's notice.  He hoped they would all surrender as easily as the Georgia Federation had.  He'd only needed to _threaten_ to detonate a dirty bomb in Atlanta.  Dropping warning leaflets from a functioning helicopter had been the only show of force necessary, though he would've gone through with it if Kelly Foster hadn't surrendered so easily. 

"Good morning, Rachel; so nice to see you.  How've you been?" he drawled, moving from the door to stand at the end of the workbench where Rachel was working.

Rachel's only response was to throw down the screwdriver she'd been using down onto the workbench.  Bass was sure she'd meant it as a veiled threat in light of what she'd done to Dr. Jaffe a few months before; but he pretended not to notice; he couldn't let her think she had any affect on him.

She sat on her stool with her head down, shoulders slumped, and her hands in her lap trying to rub some warmth into her exposed fingers; her heavy coat making her posture seem worse than it was.  She wasn't looking at him; she almost never did anymore; not since Miles' death seven weeks before.  

With the thought of Miles, his mind flooded with images from that horrible day: _seeing his_ brother _shot in front of him, the sound of his swords clanking on the floor as they fell from his hands before he slumped lifeless to the floor; the guard who'd shot him dropping when Monroe shot him; Charlotte falling to her knees in despair; Rachel wailing and fighting the men holding her to get to Miles..._ Monroe wanted to run from the workshop, to go _anywhere else_ where he could be alone, or better yet, to Charlotte for the comfort only she could give, but he needed to stay in control in front of Rachel, and the men present.

He was able to regain control quickly, but he was glad she wasn't facing him since he was sure the loss of control had shown on his face.  He took a few steps toward her to loom near her personal space, as he often did to intimidate her.  He started lazily toying with the screwdriver where it lay on the workbench, implying his own veiled threat.  To anyone watching, he would've appeared distracted, but he was watching her carefully.  Her eyes darted to the screwdriver only for a fraction of second and then to him; ' _Message received_ ,' he thought. 

He picked it up and began rolling it around in his hand, "Mr. Flynn tells me you're not making your repairs fast enough.  The Plains Nation is ripe for the taking," he pointed the tip of the screwdriver to the amplifier in front of her as he continued, "I need all my amplifiers operational _now_ , Rachel." 

She didn't answer, but she finally looked at him.  The way she stiffened made something occur to him, "Why does it take you so long to repair one amplifier?"  He leaned in a little closer, against the workbench.  "I should think you'd be in a hurry to get out of here."  He made a sweeping gesture with his empty hand to indicate the room and the corner where the woodstove had been.  "It's because you think it'll delay my plans, isn't it?"  Her shoulders slumped a little lower, and his suspicion was confirmed.  "Soon all the other Republics will hear I have power.  The outcome will be the same whether I have four amplifiers or five; they'll still fall, Rachel.  Hell, I probably only _really_ need one, so dawdling won't stop me, Rachel."  Even though he knew the last part was probably true, he _needed_ to know they were _all_ working.

She sighed wistfully, "I miss Charlie and Danny," she said, changing the subject and completely ignoring everything he'd just said.  She spoke so quietly that if he were any farther away, he wouldn't have heard her.  She hadn't been allowed to see either of her children since Miles' funeral and he and Charlotte's wedding a few days after.  "How are they?  No one will tell me."

That had been one of his orders -- that only he could tell her about Charlotte and Danny.  "They're good, Rachel," he said smiling, but there was no warmth in his voice.

"You haven't hurt them?"  There was panic in her voice now, but she was trying to hide it.

"I wouldn't hurt my own wife, Rachel..."  Rachel shuddered slightly, apparently noticing he hadn't mentioned Danny.  He was being honest; he wouldn't hurt Charlotte.  Though he would do whatever was necessary to Rachel or Danny.  He supposed that _would_ hurt Charlotte's _feelings_ and make her hate him more, but he wouldn't actually hurt _her_.

"I want to see them," she said firmly, apparently wanting proof they were indeed 'good'.

Before he could say anything, she turned on her stool to fully face him and continued, "Please, Bass, it's Christmas Eve.  Can't I see them today?  It's been years since I got to spend Christmas with them."

He'd forgotten what day it was; he'd pretty much ignored all holidays since Shelley...  ' _No!_ '  He wouldn't let his thoughts wander again.

He was sure she was up to something, like planning an escape, but he _needed_ all his amplifiers functional and the things he'd tried hadn't made her work any faster.  Letting Rachel see her kids felt too much like rewarding her, but if the proverbial carrot worked, it'd be worth it and it might make Charlotte happy too.  "OK, Rachel; _If_ all five amplifiers are working," he gestured, using the screwdriver, to the amplifier she'd been working on and the other one behind it waiting to be serviced, "by dinnertime, I'll _consider_ it," he said dismissively.

"They will be," she said, sitting up straighter.

She was definitely up to something.  He gave her his fake smile again, "Good, I'll leave you to it then." 

With that, he handed her the screwdriver, put his now cold hands in his coat pockets, and turned to leave the room, flanked on either side by his guards.

On his way out, he caught sight of something moving outside the window out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to see what it was, it was gone.  ' _Must've started snowing,_ ' he thought.

 

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That evening around dinnertime, Bass sat at his desk in his office reading field reports from Georgia while he waited to find out if Rachel finished her work; the takeover was going well. Charlotte was lounging on the sofa, leaning back against one of its arms, looking bored and idly playing with a tassel on the pillow she was holding.  Usually, unless there was an official function, they had their meals alone in their quarters, but he'd had her brought to his office incase Flynn had good news.  He wished he could pass the time by joining her and doing what they normally did whenever he'd have her brought to his office, but he did _not_ want Flynn walking in on that, so he occupied himself with the reports.

He'd thought about having her wear the uniform he'd had made for her that matched his, down to the M-insignia collar pins for her visit with Rachel, just to see the look on her face, but decided that'd be too much, so he just asked her to wear something nice.  She chose a simple dark green dress.  He chuckled at the thought of Rachel's face seeing Charlotte in the uniform which made Charlotte look up, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he said grinning at her.  He watched her long enough to see her shake her head disbelievingly and then look down at her lap, then went back to his report.

Ever since Miles died, Charlotte had lost a little bit of the fire that'd made Monroe want her from the moment he met her, but today, she seemed really down.  He allowed her to see her brother every day since she seemed to be the only person who could keep his asthma attacks at bay.  He wondered if something happened with Danny earlier.

He finished reading and decided to talk to her.  "What's bothering you, Charlotte?" he tried to sound caring, but wasn't sure she'd believe he did.  He stood up and went to her.

"Nothing," she said resignedly, putting the pillow down and shifting her position on the sofa so that she was sitting against its back as he moved to sit beside her.

He could tell she was lying.  He put his arm around her and pulled her closer, "If you don't tell me what's wrong, how can I help you?"  He leaned closer and kissed her temple.  He really did want her to be happy.

Before she had a chance to answer, _if_ she was going to, he didn't really know, there was a knock on the door.  He turned his head in time to see it open for Mr. Flynn.  The guards had been told to send him right in, or Monroe would've been angry at the interruption, though he was still annoyed since Flynn was keeping him from getting an answer from Charlotte.

Flynn walked into the office, coming to a stop across from the sofa.  "Good evening, General."  Noticing Charlotte, he added, his tone noticeably more cheerful, "Ah, good evening, Mrs. Monroe; so nice to see you; how lovely you look tonight," he gave her that sycophantic smile that Bass always wanted to punch right off his face. Charlotte looked at him but didn't answer as if she hoped not saying anything would make him go away.  "You asked to see me?" he asked, turning his attention to Monroe.  At least he'd learned not to sit down until he was asked to.

Charlotte seemed just as annoyed as Monroe was and it made him smile to himself.  Not wanting to talk to the man any more than absolutely necessary, he got straight to the point, "Did she finish?"

"Yes; all five amplifiers are operational."

Monroe was pleased, but wanted the man to leave yesterday, "Thank you.  That'll be all.  Send in Wright on your way out," he said curtly.

"Good evening, General, Mrs. Monroe," he said nodding slightly at each before heading for the door.

As Flynn was walking away, Charlotte leaned closer to Monroe.  "He really creeps me out," she said softly so that only he would hear.

"I don't like him either," he said just as quietly, kissing her on the temple again.  "But he's very useful.  Because of his help, I didn't have to fire a single shot to take Georgia."  She scoffed.  "I should think that'd make you happy that I didn't have to kill anyone in the process."

"You didn't _need_ to take Georgia at all."  Now _there_ was some of the fire he loved!

He chuckled softly.  "That's a debate for another time."

Monroe looked up to see Sergeant Wright standing at attention in the same place Flynn had stood, waiting to be acknowledged.  "Is everything in place?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go tell Diaz it's on."  Wright nodded, turned on his heel, and left the room.  After his talk with Rachel that morning, he'd made arrangements that if she finished her work, for Danny's guards to be ready to take him to Rachel's quarters at dinnertime.

Bass turned back to Charlotte, she was looking at him suspiciously; she knew Diaz was one of Danny's regular guards.  "What's wrong with Danny?" she asked with a hint of worry in her voice.

Bass chuckled, "Nothing."  He removed his arm from around her shoulders and took her hand, "Actually, I have a Christmas present for you," he said smiling.  He stood, pulling her up with him.

He put his arm out for her to take.  She looked unsure, but she seemed to be catching on.

As they were walking out, he thought he saw something move near the display cabinet by the door.  This was the third time that day and it was really getting on his nerves.  First the 'snow' outside the workshop window -- he'd later found out it wasn't snowing -- and then at lunch, he thought he saw someone standing in the corner of his quarters.  ' _Must be a trick of the candlelight._ '

They walked into another section of Independence Hall where the guest quarters were, taking the long way to give Wright time to give Diaz the signal, to the hallway where Danny's quarters were and stopped near his door. Charlotte tightened her grip on Monroe's arm, but he could tell she was excited rather than scared and he patted her hand and smiled at her.

The door opened to reveal Danny and Sergeant Diaz.  Charlotte and Danny smiled nervously at each other as he came out.  Sergeant Wright also came out of the room to join the group. Monroe allowed Danny to walk next to Charlotte and they held hands as they headed farther down the hall.  "What's happening?" Danny asked his sister.

"I'm not sure," she glanced sideways at Monroe then turned back to Danny, "something about a Christmas present." Monroe chuckled softly; she really did amuse him sometimes.

They stopped at another door at the end of the hall flanked on either side by two guards like Danny's.  She let go of Monroe's arm as he moved to take a key out of his pocket. Charlotte looked up at him; she was _almost_ smiling, which made him smile.  He couldn't help himself, it'd been so long since she'd even come close to smiling; he leaned down to give her a quick kiss.  She kissed him back automatically.

He unlocked and opened the door and walked into the room, Wright and Diaz entering behind him.  Rachel was sitting on the far windowsill staring out the window.  She looked up, when she saw them; she smiled broadly and bounded over to her children who'd also ran to her, ending up in a group hug near the middle of the room.  After a long moment when nobody said anything to him, Monroe began to feel offended that his act of kindness was going unnoticed.  "A 'thank you' would be nice," he said indignantly.

Rachel and Danny just stood there looking at him, but Charlotte turned to face him and spoke up, her tone more placating than grateful, "Thank you, Bass."

He moved to stand in front of her.  "You're welcome, Charlotte."  He took her face in his hands and bent down to give her another kiss, this time more lingering, making it a point to show Rachel as much PDA as he felt he could in front subordinates.  After all, Charlotte was the First Lady; she deserved to be treated with respect.  He couldn't see Rachel's face but he could sense the daggers she was looking into him; he laughed to himself.

He broke the kiss, but kept his hands on her face.  "Since it's Christmas and she finished all her work, I decided to let you and Danny spend the night with your mother."  He turned to Rachel moving one hand to Charlotte's shoulder, the other to his side before continuing, " _But_ , Wright and Diaz," he gestured to the two men standing near the door, "they'll be staying in here watching and listening to _everything_.  So, if you say _anything_ to confuse or turn Charlotte _or_ Danny against me, or plan an escape... they'll take them out of here and it might be _years_ before you see them again -- _if_ you see them again.  _Is_ that understood, Rachel?"

She nodded weakly, "Yes," she whispered.

He turned back to Charlotte and leaned close to her ear, "I'll miss you."  He smiled and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and let it linger there.  "Enjoy your visit.  I'll see you tomorrow."  Turning to the others he said, "Good night, Danny, Rachel," dismissively.  Putting his hands in his pockets, he turned and went to the door.

"You can have their dinners brought in now," he said to Wright before closing the door behind him.

 

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Hours later, near midnight, while Charlotte was visiting her family, Monroe found himself alone in their quarters for the first time since before their wedding.  He sat in the armchair by the fireplace reading a book, trying not to think about her, but it wasn't working.  He knew it'd only be for one night, but he missed her.  He was tempted to go get her, but decided against it.  It would just make him look weak if he couldn't make it _one night_ without his wife.

Neither of them enjoyed their first night together; he didn't threaten or force her, but she gave in, likely out of fear he'd hurt her family.  But, a few days later, everything changed; he found her holding a picture of he and Miles that she'd found in one of his drawers.  Initially, he was angry that she'd gone through his things, but he saw the look on her face, she was so sad he just couldn't stay angry.  She asked him about the picture; it'd been taken the last time they were on leave together in New Orleans for Mardi Gras, not long before the Blackout.  He'd found himself telling her about that trip, about his family, Shelley, and how Miles was all the family he'd had left and how much he missed him.  By then, they were both crying and holding each other, and it just sort of happened; she'd let herself forget who he was for a while and just accepted the comfort he'd offered her.  Since then, they'd become each other's drug of choice to numb the pain of their shared grief.  Deep down, he knew she didn't love him, but being with her was the closest thing to love he'd had in years, so he accepted it.  He and Charlotte had gotten so lost in each other, that when Randall Flynn arrived a week after the wedding, Monroe made him wait for almost a week before he'd see him; Flynn finally threatened to take his help to Georgia instead.

He was tired, but still too wound up to sleep.  He pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to ease the slight headache he'd had all afternoon.  Finally giving up on the book, he put it down on the end table next to the chair and got up to get a drink from the sideboard.  He suddenly felt like he was being watched, as if he was no longer alone.  He looked up and caught sight of the grandfather clock, but it wasn't the time he saw; it was Miles' face watching him -- glaring at him.  He gulped down the whiskey and tried to put it out of his mind; obviously, he was just seeing things, like he had been all day.  After he downed that glass, he poured another and downed that one in one gulp too.  He was still upset over his brother's death, that's all.

He turned to go back to the chair to try the book again, determined to ignore his paranoia and concentrate this time, only to see Miles' face again in the flames in the fireplace.  He threw the empty glass still in his hand at it and it shattered against one of the andirons.  He heard Miles' voice coming from somewhere in the room, "You missed, prick!"  Now he knew he wasn't just seeing things; he was loosing his mind.

He turned around to see if he could find the source -- maybe one of the guards had come into the room -- and saw _Miles_ , floating in the middle of the room near the ceiling.  He was wearing the same clothes as the day he died, but there were chains with padlocks and keys attached to some of the links wrapped around his shoulders and waist and hanging down to the floor.  "What do you think of the chains?  They were Aaron's idea; actually, this whole 'Scrooge' bit was.  I think they're a bit much, but Aaron insisted on authenticity..."  He may be dead, but his sarcastic wit was alive and well.

Bass just stood there gaping at the apparition unsure what was really happening.  "I'm supposed to be Jacob Marley, by the way, you know, incase you didn't already figure that out," Miles deadpanned.

After few seconds, Bass finally found his voice, "Are you here to kill me?"  At that point, he didn't really care if the answer was yes, he was so happy to see Miles, and even though it _had_ to be a dream, he'd go with it, whatever happened.

"No Bass, I'm here to save your _sorry_ ass," he floated down so that he was standing on the floor.

Miles walked, his chains rattling as they were dragged behind him but his footsteps made no sound, over to the sideboard and stared longingly at the whiskey bottle there, Bass turned on the spot he was rooted to to watch him, "Damn!  Sure could use a drink right now," he muttered, glaring at Bass.

Bass was still recovering from shock, but realization of everything Miles had said finally began to sink in, "All that stuff I've been seeing all day, that was you."  Miles nodded and Bass went on, "Aaron?  Why do I know that name?"  He paused a few seconds trying to remember where he'd heard, or read, the name recently, his mind working better now.  "You mean Pittman?"  Another pause, "And what do you mean you're here to save me?"

Miles heaved a sigh "Yeah, Bass; Aaron Pittman.  You got him killed when you attacked the rebel camps, oh, and Nora too, by the way," he said with a scowl.  "As for saving you, I'd _rather_ let you _rot_ , but crazy as it sounds, you're the _only_ one who can help my family and get rid of those sons-of-bitches you're working with."

Bass ignored the part about letting him rot and addressed the part that was important to him, "What 'sons-of-bitches?"  Bas thought about it for a second, "Flynn?  But he's helped us, Miles.  'Cause of him, in only a year, we'll have the whole continent."

Miles scoffed and rolled his eyes, "It's the guys he's with, they're _bad news_ , downright evil in fact.  Bass, you keep listening to them and they're gonna destroy _everything_ we _ever_ gave a damn about.  You need a wakeup call and you need it _now_!  Hence the 'Scrooge' routine."

Bass just stood there not knowing what to say.  He didn't trust Randall Flynn as far as he could throw a Sherman tank, but since The Republic was _all_ that mattered to him, he'd ignored his instincts in favor of the advantages Flynn offered.

With Bass's silence, Miles went on, "So... you'll be visited by three ghosts."  He sighed exasperatedly, "This is ridiculous!"  Miles glanced up at the ceiling, "if you weren't already dead, Aaron...," Miles muttered before continuing his spiel, "The first at 1AM, the second at... aw hell you've read the book, you know the drill."

"You couldn't just _tell_ me what I need to know yourself?"  He really wished Miles would stop being so vague.  If Flynn really was as bad as Miles was saying, he really needed to know and he'd rather hear it from Miles himself than 'ghosts' he still didn't believe in.

Miles shook his head.  "It's not enough for me to tell you, you need to _see_ where you went wrong, and what's really going on, and what'll happen if you keep going the way you have been, or it just won't take and you won't change."

Miles looked longingly at the whiskey again for a moment, glanced up at the clock, and walked back to the middle of the room; again, the clattering of his chains the only sound.  "Well, Bass, it's been fun," he scoffed, "but I gotta go now, it's almost time for the first ghost to show up."  He snapped his fingers, "Oh, almost forgot; just so you know... all the ghosts are people whose deaths you're responsible for," he smirked.

Bass started toward Miles, moving from his spot for the fist time since his arrival, "No, wait!  Don't go!" he said as he fell to his knees, desperation in his voice, his hand moving toward his sidearm.  He wanted to join his brother; nothing else mattered in that moment; all Bass knew was that his friend was leaving him _again_.

Miles seemed to know what he was thinking; his shoulders slumped and he turned to face him, "No Bass!  You can't be with me 'cause I'm in Purgatory; apparently," he shrugged, "I'm not beyond redemption, but, at this point, you _are_ ; you'll just go straight to Hell if you end it now.  Just hang in there one more night.  You'll see things differently in the morning...  I promise.  And well..." he shrugged, "you _might_ see me again."

With that, Miles disappeared and Bass was alone again.  A single tear streamed down his cheek.


	2. Ghosts of Christmases Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to update! Writing this story is a lot harder than I thought it'd be. Psychoanalyzing Bass ain't easy!  
> I have the rest mapped out (in my head, at least) so hopefully the rest'll be easier and the updates'll be quicker.  
> Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, followed, favorited, etc. <3 U All!

Monroe was slumped over on the floor where he'd fallen to his knees, his face buried in his hands. He had no idea how long he'd been there; the way he felt, it could've been hours. He finally decided to go to bed, but just couldn't seem to get himself off the floor. All he managed was to roll over into a fetal position.

Monroe wasn't sure what'd happened. If it had been just a dream, what was his subconscious trying to tell him? If it was real, he dreaded what would come next. He had indeed read the book and he didn't look forward to seeing the things the ghosts would surely show him; especially the third one.

He jerked reflexively when he heard the grandfather clock behind him begin to chime, and he knew it must be 1AM. He braced himself for the first ghost's visit, but nothing happened. 'It really was just a dream.' He felt both relieved and sorry; relieved because it meant he was off the hook, sorry because it meant Miles hadn't really been there, and that he was truly loosing his mind.

After what seemed like a long time, Monroe finally began to relax and thought again about going to bed, but then someone cleared his throat behind him. He quickly turned and sat up to find the source, prepared to defend himself if necessary, though what defense he'd have against a ghost, he didn't know. A man was crouched on the floor a few feet away; he seemed to be studying Monroe, his expression unreadable. He was quite a bit older than when Monroe last saw him years before the Blackout, but there was no mistaking Ben Matheson.

He suddenly remembered what Miles had said about the ghosts and he was afraid. In a panic, Monroe tried to get up, but his legs fell out from under him. He only managed to scramble away across the floor until his back was up against the wardrobe on the other side of the room, his eyes never leaving Ben as he went.

He froze when Ben spoke, "You look like you've seen a ghost," he chuckled as he stood up. "Sorry, couldn't resist," giving Monroe a wry smile, "I guess Miles didn't warn you." Monroe only managed a nod. Miles had warned him, if only cryptically, but he just wasn't prepared for the shock of seeing Charlotte's dead father.

Monroe was bewildered by Ben's apparent lack of anger for causing his death, "You're not angry...? You don't... blame me...?"

Ben shook his head; his expression was neutral. "You didn't kill me yourself, or give the order. You do share some of the blame...," he lowered his head for a moment and looked back up, "but so do a lot of people..."

Monroe was surprised by Ben's attitude, but he could see Ben was holding something back; he decided to put that aside for the moment. He believed Ben didn't hold a grudge, but he still doubted his motives, "Why are you helping me?"

"All of us have our own reasons; I have three," he counted off each with his fingers, "Rachel, Charlie, and Danny. You're the only one who can let them go."

'That's not gonna happen,' Bass thought. There was no way he could ever let Charlotte go; she was the only thing keeping him together since Miles' death.

Ben continued, "In a nutshell, as 'the Ghost of Christmases Past'," he made air quotes as he spoke the last words, "I'm here to remind you who you once were, and that you can be him again."

Ben walked closer to him, his footsteps just as silent as Miles' had been; it was just as unnerving, but at least he wasn't wearing any chains. He reached down a hand for Monroe to take, after hesitating a few moments, Monroe leaned forward and took it; he was surprised his hand didn't just pass right through as Ben helped him to his feet.

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As soon as he was standing, his quarters began to fade away and another room came into view. Monroe recognized it immediately; he and Ben were now standing in the doorway of the living room of his childhood home in Jasper.

Monroe took a few steps into the room and turned in place as he looked around; it was exactly as he remembered it. The room was decorated for Christmas, evergreen garland and paper chains he and his sister had made hanging on the walls, a large wreath over the fireplace, and the big Christmas tree in the middle of the front window so it could be seen from outside.

It was Christmas morning and Young Bass and his younger sister, Cynthia, were sitting on the floor near the tree opening their presents. By the look of things -- torn wrapping paper, ribbons, and toys strewn all over the floor -- they'd been at it for a while. His mom and dad sat on the sofa watching them, holding hands and smiling; their own presents already opened and sitting on the coffee table. Bass guessed it must've been 1994 by the sight of his very pregnant mother. Which meant he'd been about 12 and Cyinie 3.

Bass was overcome with emotion seeing his family again; they were all so happy. Even after nearly twenty years, he still missed them. Bass moved toward his parents crouching next to the sofa in front of them, "Mom! Dad! It's me...," he said, choking back tears. When they didn't answer, he turned in place and made to go over to Cynie, who was happily playing with the set of dinosaurs she'd just opened.

But Ben's voice stopped him, "They can't see us. It's like we're watching a home movie, we can't interact with it." Bass turned back to his parents and moved his hand in front of their faces to make sure. He wanted so much for that not to be true, but they really didn't see him. He heaved a sad sigh as he brought his hand back down.

His father sat up straighter, smiling more broadly, and put his hand on his wife's leg. Bass followed their gaze to his younger self and sat down on the floor to watch. Young Bass had just picked up what had turned out to be a special gift, and even though he was sad, Bass couldn't help smiling as he watched his younger self.

Young Bass tore into the Batman-themed wrapping paper excitedly. Bass remembered that he'd saved that one for last: he'd seen it under the tree the night before and guessed, by the size and weight of the box, that it might be the thing he wanted most that year.

Bass glanced at Ben, who was still standing in the doorway, leaning against its frame, his arms crossed against his chest, also watching Young Bass, "The first Playstation!" he chuckled. "Me and Miles both asked for one hoping at least one of us would get it and he got one too!" He chuckled again and smiled happily at the memory.

As his older self spoke to Ben, Young Bass finished opening his new Playstation game console, and the two games wrapped with it, "YES!" he said excitedly, pumping his fist.

Gail leaned over to her husband, "I swear you bought that for yourself," she teased. Bill just gave her a shrug and a sheepish grin.

Cynthia moved closer to her brother to get a better look at the box in his lap, "What's dis, Bassie?"

Ben chuckled, "I think you spent more time at our house playing ours than you did yours."

Bass turned to Ben, smiling, "That's 'cause you guys had better games. They," he tilted his head toward his parents,"wouldn't let me get the coolest games 'cause of Cynie, but I didn't mind; I didn't want her playing those games either."

Bass turned back and saw that at some point during him and Ben's exchange, Cynthia had decided her own toys were more interesting and went back to her new dinosaurs. He had explained the game console to her and told her about the games he was sure she'd like, but she'd never gotten into video games as much as he and Miles had been; neither had Angela when she'd been old enough. They'd both preferred to read books.

Young Bass jumped up, "I'm gonna go call Miles!" From the corner of his eye, Bass saw Ben smile and shake his head slightly.

Bill moved to the edge of the sofa, "Why don't we get it hooked up and try it out first; make sure it works; OK, buddy?" he said, moving toward Young Bass.

Bass turned to his mother in time to see her cross her arms and murmur, "Mm-hm." She shook her head in mock disgust, smiling broadly at her 'two boys', as she'd often call him and his dad. He'd forgotten that; he smiled at the reminder.

"OK, dad!" Young Bass answered. Bass remembered he had realized the first play should be with his dad.

Young Bass and his dad went over to the TV in the corner to hook up the new game console. As they were moving the TV to access its back, Cynthia suddenly started to cry. Gail attempted to get off the sofa, which was difficult in her condition, to help her daughter, but Young Bass beat her to it. Bass also instinctively started to go to his sister, but stopped when he remembered she couldn't see him. He sighed sadly, as he sat back down heavily. "It broke," she cried. A leg had come off one of her new dinosaurs.

Young Bass knelt down on the floor next to her, "It's OK, Cynie," he put his hand on her shoulder. "It's not broken. Here, see," he took the pieces from her and snapped the leg back onto its body, "good as new!" Cynthia immediately stopped crying, smiled, and hugged her brother. He hugged her back and kissed her cheek. She'd gotten other toys too, but Bass remembered those dinosaurs had been her favorites that year.

"Play with me," she demanded, her crisis already forgotten. Young Bass happily sat down, picked up another dinosaur, and played with her. He could never say no to his little sisters.

Watching his younger self playing with his sister, and his dad hooking up the console, Bass was reminded that he and Cynthia had played together until lunchtime. After lunch, he and his dad played video games for hours until Miles called late in the afternoon to brag that he'd gotten a Playstation and whatever the coolest game at the time was; Bass couldn't remember which one. He laughed to himself. He and Miles didn't get together until the next day, but they'd played video games all day.

Ben's voice broke him out of his thoughts, "You were a good kid, Bass. You always put your family first; you loved them more than anyone else -- even Miles." Ben paused for a moment, "You used to love more outwardly than, probably, anyone else I've ever known."

Bass absorbed Ben's words and looked at his parents for a long moment and looked back at Ben, "I miss them," he sighed. He turned back to them for a moment longer before his gaze moved to Cynthia still happily playing with his younger self and laughing, "I loved being a big brother," he said softly, sniffing and holding back tears. "That's something Miles never had," he looked at Ben, a fellow big brother, knowingly. He remembered he'd been excited about his new sister who'd be born early the following year; he would've loved a brother too, of course, but he didn't need another one.

"It's time for us to go, Bass," Ben said sadly as he approached Bass, his eyes filled with sympathy.

"No! Not yet," Bass pleaded. He wasn't ready to leave.

"We don't have time for you to relive your whole childhood! It'll be time for the next ghost soon and there're still a couple things I need to show you yet." Bass looked at his family again and finally nodded reluctantly, stood up, and took Ben's offered hand, taking one last longing look as the living room, and his family, faded away.

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A new room came into view; this time they were standing in the middle of the living room of a small condo Monroe vaguely remembered staying at a few days while he and Miles were in Chicago to visit Ben and his family one Christmas before the Blackout. There were no Christmas decorations here, but that was because the friend whose condo it was had been out of town celebrating with his own family.

Monroe looked around the room as Ben stood silently watching him; he seemed to be waiting for something but Monroe wasn't quite sure what. At first, he thought the room was empty, but then he noticed a man lying on his stomach on the floor in front of the sofa, partially hidden by the noticeably displaced coffee table, with an empty tequila bottle next to his hand, and realized it was his 28-year-old self. He remembered sitting down on the sofa, trying to find something worth watching on TV, having no luck, and then finding the tequila in the kitchen, but not how he'd ended up passed out on the floor. Seeing it all again though, made the details begin to come back to him, and unlike the last memory Ben showed him, this one wasn't a happy one.

It was almost two years before the Blackout and was the first Christmas since Bass's family had been killed by a drunk driver. Miles had gone out around noon to find last-minute gifts for his family; he hadn't wanted to take a bunch of things on the plane with them, so he'd decided to shop once they got to Chicago. He'd said he'd be gone for only a couple hours, but since it was Christmas Eve, he was gone much longer by the time Bass had sat down with the bottle. He had been doing better dealing with his grief once he'd been put back on active duty, but once it got to be Christmas, he just fell apart again. Thanksgiving hadn't been a picnic either, but he hadn't been on leave then, so with work to focus on, it'd been easier to get through.

They were supposed to go to Ben and Rachel's that evening for dinner and stay overnight to spend Christmas Day with them and the kids. Miles had thought Bass made it through Thanksgiving better than he really had and thought he was ready. It'd been years since Miles had spent Christmas with his own family and he thought Bass would enjoy it too, and maybe it'd start a new tradition for him, they were Bass's friends too, after all. But Bass had ruined that plan...

Monroe heard a key in the lock of the front door and turned his gaze from his younger self. As he turned toward the door, he caught sight of a clock on the wall that indicated it was 7:30PM, before seeing the door open to reveal Miles. "Sorry it took so long," he called as he closed the door. "The mall was a nightmare." Miles muttered under his breath as he put his bags on the floor near the door and put the keys on the kitchen island, and came farther into the condo, "You here, Bass?"

As Monroe was watching Miles, he noticed Ben was now watching Miles too. Apparently, whatever he'd been waiting for was about to happen.

After checking the bedrooms, Miles came back to the living room and spotted Bass where he lay on the floor. His shoulders slumped, "Dammit, Bass! I can't leave you alone for just a couple hours?" He heaved a sigh and went over to check him, "You better not be dead," he grumbled as he turned Bass over roughly, Bass groaned at the disturbance.

Miles was muttering again as he picked up the bottle off the floor and sat down on the coffee table. He slammed it down disgustedly on the table next to him, took out his cell phone, and dialed. After a few seconds, "Hey, it's me... Yeah, we're not gonna make it tonight; Bass is a mess... Yeah, he's passed out. Found him on the floor when I got back from the mall. Yeah, I know; should'a made him come with," he sighed. "Yeah, so, we'll come by Sunday before we head out... Merry Christmas... Yeah... Kiss the kids for me... Bye." He closed the phone with a snap and put it back in his pocket. He heaved a sigh before standing. Staring down at Bass, he shook his head, "I guess it was too soon," he whispered.

Monroe watched as Miles tried to pick his younger self up off the floor, "It's alright, Bass," Miles groaned as he lifted Bass's shoulders, "I didn't really want to go," he added resignedly. Monroe could see Miles was lying and it made him feel bad all over again. When Bass had woken up late the next day, he'd felt terrible for making Miles miss Christmas with his family. But now he felt worse; as things had turned out, with the nature of leave in the Marines and the Blackout two years later, it had been the last time Miles could've spent Christmas with them.

Monroe couldn't take it anymore, he moved to stand in front of Ben, "Why did you show me this?" he demanded, gesturing to Miles and his younger, unconscious self. "This isn't a happy memory! I thought you were supposed to remind me of good things!"

"You need to see where you went wrong too," Ben said sympathetically. Monroe opened his mouth to object, but Ben continued, "This was about the time you started to rely too heavily on Miles. You never had any other close friends, so he let you, and you took full advantage. It's when you started doing almost anything to keep from being alone, but you wouldn't let anyone else get too close either." Monroe looked down at the floor, he'd never heard it put into words before, but he knew Ben was right; still, he didn't like hearing it, "Why didn't you just go to the mall with him?"

He looked back up, "I hate shopping..." That was true, Monroe did hate shopping, but it wasn't the whole truth. He inhaled deeply, letting his breath out slowly and turned to face the scene in front of him, "I couldn't stand to be around all those happy people... I thought I could handle the time alone," he took another deep breath and bowed his head again, "but then..., I turned on the TV..." he remembered now exactly how he came to be on the floor, "my mom's favorite Christmas movie was on... I lost it...," he sighed sadly, "then I found the tequila..."

He looked back up to see that Miles had finally succeeded in getting Bass's limp form up onto the sofa and then putting the coffee table back into place. Bass groaned softly again as Miles covered him with a throw that'd been on the back of the sofa.

Ben moved closer to Monroe, "Things did get better, though," he said, his tone lighter. He put his hand on Monroe's shoulder, and again, the scene began to change.

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When everything came into focus again, Monroe looked around to see that this time they were outside; it was night and they were standing near a large campfire surrounded by about twenty people. Some were sitting in old chairs or on a log, others were sitting on coolers or overturned crates or on blankets on the ground, a few others were standing nearby, away from the fire. Everyone around the fire was singing 'The Twelve Days of Christmas'.

Monroe recognized everyone; it was the camp he and Miles had started after rescuing Jeremy Baker from thugs and deciding they should help the people they met as they'd wandered around after the Blackout. Many of them would later be among the first to join the Monroe Militia. He saw Miles standing next to one of the tents with Jim Hudson and Dave Kipling passing around a flask, completely ignoring the group around the fire; Miles 'didn't do sing-alongs'. Around the fire were Jeremy and his then-girlfriend Lydia on a blanket; Tom, Julia, and Jason Neville were all in old folding lawn chairs; some others who'd only been with the camp a short time whose names he'd forgotten were there too. His 33-year-old self and Shelley were on the log, arms around each other and big smiles on their faces as they both sang. Monroe's heart both leapt and sank at the sight of Shelley; he wanted so much to go to her, but he knew she couldn't see him.

It had been a little over two years since the Blackout and it was the camp's, and he and Shelley's, first and last Christmas celebration; the last Christmas he'd even acknowledged. The 'party' had been Shelley and her best friend Lydia's idea 'to bring back some semblance of normalcy to their little corner of the world,' as they'd put it. It hadn't been anything fancy: no decorations, no four-course feast, no organized gift exchange. It was just a simple meal of venison stew followed by Christmas Carols around the fire, but it'd had the desired effect; everyone had a good time, if only for a couple hours. Except maybe the Nevilles; even then, everything Julia and Tom did had to have a purpose. They'd ingratiate themselves to whoever was 'in charge' (or those closely connected to same) and do whatever would get themselves ahead. Which is why Monroe kept them around -- better to keep people like that close.

Monroe stood staring at Shelley; she'd been so happy that night, they both were. Ben's voice from behind him, interrupted his thoughts, "You'd found yourself again and your friendship with Miles was healthy again too... as healthy as it'd ever been, anyway." Monroe turned and gave him a warning glance; Ben shrugged slightly, "After the Blackout, you'd actually thought about walking away from Miles when he started acting like a vigilante. You even stood up to him later when he wanted to raid the other camp," Monroe nodded his agreement; he'd actually forgotten about that. Ben moved to stand beside him, "And... you fell in love...," he gestured to Shelley." Monroe sighed longingly; he had indeed loved her. Ben moved his hand to indicate Jeremy and Monroe's gaze followed, "You and Jeremy became good friends too."

Since 'arriving' here, Monroe had avoided thinking about Jeremy, but seeing him now, singing the loudest and most off-key of the group, Monroe felt guilty for killing him; his last real friend. But he couldn't dwell on it; he'd been sure at the time that Jeremy was guilty of trying to assassinate him, and Jeremy would've been the first to suggest that the suspect be killed if it'd been anyone else. Jeremy had been the kind of officer willing to sacrifice himself and the men under his command for the good of the Republic. He really had been that loyal. Monroe forced the guilt from his mind again as he continued to watch the scene in front of him.

The group finished singing; Julia Neville stood and announced they were turning in and Tom and Jason followed, wishing everyone 'good night'. A few others also left. Everyone still around the fire waved or murmured 'good night' as they continued to talk and laugh but the party was winding down. Monroe remembered sadly that he and Shelley would soon 'turn in' too.

Ben spoke again, turning Monroe's attention back to Shelley, "When you were alone later is when she told you she was pregnant, wasn't it?" Something else Monroe tried not to think about.

Monroe nodded and brought his hand to his face as he began to sob, "I gave her a book I'd found earlier that week..." he paused, trying to remember the details, "some romance novel, I think... the cover was missing... She loved them." Tears were streaming down his cheeks now, "Then she gave me her gift: our child," his voice faltered and he buried his face in both hands. When she'd given him the news, he'd felt real hope for the future for the first time since loosing his family.

Ben stood silently beside him as Monroe continued to cry. His sadness was turning to anger thinking about the life he could've had and all the horrible things he wouldn't have done if Shelley and their child had lived... if the Blackout hadn't happened... He finally reached his boiling point and got in Ben's face, poking him in the chest, causing him to take a step back, "It's your fault she's dead!" Monroe had long suspected Ben had something to do with the Blackout, and he remembered Ben was holding something back earlier, "You caused it, didn't you?"

"I helped cause the Blackout, yes," Ben lowered his head as if in shame, "and millions have died because of it." Ben looked back up at Monroe, his eyes haunted. Monroe opened his mouth to speak; he wanted answers, but Ben cut him off, his voice determined, "But, this isn't about me, right now! This is about you and what you need to know to save my family, yourself, and many others!" As if Ben could tell Monroe wasn't going to let it go that easily, he added, "There's no time to give you all the details, but I promise, at least, some of your questions will be answered before the night's over."

Monroe took a deep breath and reigned himself in; he realized it was pointless to take it out on Ben. Ben was already dead, and apparently, in Purgatory with Miles; how he ended up there instead of Hell was beyond him. He wanted someone to pay, though, but it wouldn't be Ben.

Ben went on, "After they died, you only let Miles in, and you did whatever you thought he wanted to keep him from leaving you. Funny thing is... Miles became what he thought you needed him to be too; you both dragged each other down. I don't think you're even aware of it, but when Miles finally had enough and left, you set out to destroy the thing you both built -- you made your own country bleed just to get back at him." Monroe hadn't ever thought about that before, but it made sense.

Ben looked for a moment as if he was trying to make a decision, "You took some of your anger out on Rachel, too." Monroe stiffened, wondering if Ben knew. He saw a flash of anger cross Ben's face and thought he was going to say something more, but then it was gone. Monroe never gave much thought to that night; it was only the one time and meant nothing to him, or Rachel.

Ben continued, his expression neutral again, "Now, you can change everything; you have a chance to do the right thing -- save lives... And you can be happy again." He paused for a long moment before continuing, "Let go of the bitterness over everything you've lost; let yourself be a good man again. Let yourself love again..."

Monroe heard and understood everything Ben just said, but his mind seized on one thing, he looked at Shelley for a long moment, "I can be happy again?" he said full of longing for a new beginning, he turned back to Ben, "With Charlotte..."

Ben's expression darkened and Monroe felt a surge of panic. Seeing the look on Ben's face and thinking about Shelley made him worry that something similar was going to happen to Charlotte, "There's something you're not telling me? She's not going to...," he trailed off, unable to say the word, he just couldn't loose her too, "is she?"

Ben's expression became uncertain, "I don't know," he shrugged slightly. "I can only show you your past, not what will happen. But, if you heed everything we're telling you, she should be ok. I hate everything you've done to her," the flash of anger was back, more intensely this time, "and Rachel and Danny. None of it can't be undone, but letting them go is the right thing to do, Bass."

Monroe looked Ben squarely in the eye, "I can't do that, Ben! I need her," he sounded desperate, even to himself. He wanted to have the kind of relationship with her that he'd had with Shelley.

Ben lowered his head and sighed resignedly as if he'd given up. Ben touched Monroe's shoulder again and the camp began to fade away.

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Monroe was suddenly standing in his quarters again; alone. He looked around to make sure, but Ben apparently didn't return with him. He hadn't been ready; he was still worried about Charlotte and had more questions about her wellbeing, and he'd wanted to tell Ben he hadn't hurt her -- that he'd never hurt her; he just couldn't ever let her leave him.

'What's next?' he thought, dreading the answer. Ben had already put him through the proverbial wringer emotionally, and he couldn't imagine what the other ghosts would show him, but he was resigned to letting this Scrooge business play out -- if for no other reason than to get it over with. He'd seen enough to realize it probably really was happening, so he felt a little bit of hope, too. Any 'Scrooge' adaptation he'd ever seen always had a happy ending.

He turned to look at the clock when he heard the noises it made before chiming; it was 2AM. 'Bring it on!' he sighed to himself. Maybe the next ghost would take him to Charlotte.


	3. Christmas Presence(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to update! Again! And sorry this chapter is so looong, but I just couldn't get it to be any shorter. If I keep trying, it'll never get finished cuz I'll just see something else to change. lol  
> Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed/favorited/kudoed, etc. and to those who're still with me for this story. <3 <3 <3  
> Hope you enjoy it! :D

The clock finished chiming, making it officially 2AM. Monroe expected the next ghost would just appear in front of him promptly at 2, but nothing happened.  He didn't know how long after 1 Ben had appeared, but he was willing to bet it'd been less time than he'd perceived.  He stood in the middle of his quarters waiting as patiently as his impatient nature would allow, but that was becoming more difficult by the second.  He was already upset over Ben's refusal to say anything about Charlotte's future and he was becoming even more anxious as he wondered what this ghost would show him and why they were late.

When he couldn't stand still anymore, he began pacing.  After a few minutes, when that didn't help, he went to the sideboard hoping that a drink would settle his nerves.  He downed it in two gulps and glanced up at the clock; it was five minutes past 2.  "Come _on_!" he grumbled slamming the tumbler back down on the sideboard in frustration.  "We haven't got all night!"

One drink didn't help, but maybe another would.  He'd just picked up the decanter again when a female voice startled him, "Alright, let's go!" she said impatiently.  The decanter slipped from his hand, dropping hard onto the sideboard.

"It's about time!" Monroe ground out before he turned to see Nora Clayton standing a few feet away, near the end of the sideboard, annoyance radiating from her, as if _he'd_ been the one who'd kept _her_ waiting.  "Nora?" he was surprised, Miles had mentioned she was dead, but Monroe hadn't expected her to be one of the ghosts.  "Why would _you_ be helping me?" he asked incredulous.  "What stake could you possibly have in all this?"  She'd once been one of his best bounty hunters, but she'd always been indifferent toward him and never really _cared_ about the Republic; she only cared about Miles, so Monroe couldn't imagine _why_ she was here now.

Nora glared at him, "I'm here to help Charlie and her brother," she answered matter-of-factly.  She crossed her arms over her chest and added, "Period."  That surprised him; she hadn't known Charlotte long and never met Danny, so how could she possibly care so much about them?

"If you're going to tell me to let her go, save your breath," Monroe said while moving away from Nora toward the middle of the room, she turned on the spot to face him.  "I'll tell _you_ what I told Ben: _I can't_ ," he crossed his arms, imitating her and added, "Period."  Nora shrugged and scoffed, still glaring at him.  Seeing how annoyed Nora was, Monroe _needed_ to make sure she would take him to see Charlotte before he let her take him anywhere, "You _will_ be taking me to see Charlotte?"  It was more command than question.

"There's no time for _that_ ," she said emphatically.  She was becoming agitated and Monroe thought he saw a moment's panic in her eyes, she obviously didn't want him to see Charlotte; he wondered what Nora didn't want him to see.  She quickly recovered and took a few defiant, but silent steps toward him; Monroe still couldn't get used to that, "I'm only here to show you what you _need_ to see, and it's _not_ Charlie!"

He took a step toward her, "One, that's because _you_ , "pointing a finger at her, "were late." she scoffed.  "And two, I _do_ need to see Charlotte," he nodded.  "I'm worried about her," he added quietly.  He cringed inwardly at how weak it'd sounded, but it was the truth.

Nora scoffed and looked at him disbelieving and irritated.  She lunged forward trying to grab his arm, but Monroe backed away in time to avoid her touch.  "I. _Want_. To. See. Charlotte!" he demanded.  Nora came at him again, but stopped short when Miles suddenly appeared between them, facing her. Monroe would've been ecstatic to see Miles again if he wasn't so aggravated by Nora's refusal to cooperate.  He was relieved to see that Miles' chains were gone though; apparently, they'd just been a 'prop'.

Miles looked over his shoulder at Monroe for a long moment as if considering him, nodded and looked back at Nora, "Take him to see her," he said wearily.

"We don't have time, Miles!" Nora protested.  "Besides," she moved closer to Miles and lowered her voice, but Monroe still heard everything, "if he sees her, he'll never let her go."

"And we're wasting more time standing here arguing about it!" Miles countered.  "Look, if it's gonna put his mind at ease," he gestured toward Monroe behind him, "and make him less distracted when we show him the rest, then we're doing it."  Nora's stance changed as if she was about to protest further, but Miles whispered, "Trust me," and placed his hand gently on her cheek. Monroe relaxed a little since it looked like he was finally going to get what he wanted; Nora was being difficult, but at least Miles understood.

A tall, chubby man with a scruffy beard suddenly appeared near the fireplace, the low fire making him glow slightly. Monroe realized, based on descriptions he'd read, that he must be Aaron Pittman.  Nora and Miles seemed only mildly annoyed, but Monroe was irritated by the interruption since time was supposedly short, but decided it was best not to complain; he couldn't risk making Miles angry enough to change his mind about letting him see Charlotte.

Aaron was holding a book against his chest, "Guys!  It isn't supposed to work like this," he held out the book for them to see and pointed to it with his other hand, it was a copy of Dickens' book, "Jacob Marley doesn't make another appearance _or_ get to be one of _the_ ghosts."

Miles rolled his eyes in exasperation, "Well, I'm _not_ Jacob Marley, so we're gonna do this _my_ way," Miles said in his usual dry tone.  "I don't like this any better than you do," he said looking between Nora and Aaron, holding his hands out to emphasize his point, "but we're taking him to see Charlie.  You're both just going to have to trust me."

Aaron grumbled incoherently before finally huffing resignedly, " _Fine_ ," and disappearing.

Miles looked at Nora, "Let's go!" he said, tilting his head toward the door as if they were going to use it.  Nora grabbed Monroe's wrist; this time he didn't move away.  Just as it had been with Ben, Monroe's quarters immediately began fading from sight.

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Once his vision cleared, Monroe realized the three of them were standing just inside the door of Rachel's quarters.  He immediately began looking for Charlotte; Rachel and Danny were sitting on the sofa near the fireplace, but couldn't see her.  Hoping that she was just hidden from view, he began walking toward the sofa, Miles spoke from where he still stood by the door, " _Really_ , Bass?" he said dryly, "You're keeping her in _my_ old room?" Monroe was too focused on finding Charlotte to answer.  He stopped when he finally saw her sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table.  Relief washed over him like a wave and he let out the breath he'd been holding; he still didn't have the answers he wanted, but for the moment, he stopped worrying about her.

Now that he was thinking straight again, he noticed Sergeants Wright and Diaz were standing near the door, casually watching their charges, instead of standing closer so they could _listen_ too.  He'd have to reconsider their assignments; perhaps they'd be more useful on morgue detail.

Monroe quickly moved around the sofa and sat on the floor near Charlotte.  As soon as he was settled, he saw Miles and Nora standing next to him out of the corner of his eye and turned toward them.  He was surprised since he hadn't heard them approach, ' _Of course not, they're ghosts!_ ' he chided himself.  Their silent movements just went from being a little unnerving to really annoying.

Nora looked daggers down at Monroe, "OK, you've seen her.  Let's go!" she said impatiently, taking a step toward him.

"No...," Monroe started to protest, sounding pathetic even to himself, but Nora's attempt to touch him stopped him. Monroe leaned away reflexively, knowing her touch would take him away from Charlotte before he could find out what Nora didn't want him to know.  Miles stopped her with a hand on her arm. Monroe let out a breath and relaxed again.

Miles shook his head at Nora, "Not yet," he said softly.  She looked as if she wanted to object, but she just huffed resignedly. Monroe caught Miles' eyes, silently thanked him, and turned back to watch his wife and her family.  Her _only_ remaining family, he lamented.

Charlotte, Rachel, and Danny were quietly working on a jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table.  At first glance, their silence seemed to be concentration, but Monroe soon realized it was actually an uncomfortable silence.  Rachel's eyes kept falling to Charlotte's wedding ring every time her hand moved in range; Rachel clearly wanted to say something to her daughter and Charlotte was becoming tenser with each look.  Danny was looking down at the puzzle looking for the spot the piece he was holding would go, but he glanced occasionally at both women as if they were ticking time bombs.  Monroe was starting to regret subjecting Charlotte and Danny to this visit.

After another minute of Rachel's constant looks, Charlotte apparently had enough.  As she placed the piece she was holding, she heaved a sigh and looked up at Rachel, " _What_ , mom?" her voice annoyed but low, "Just spit it out!"

"How could you marry _him_?" Rachel hissed loudly, accusingly, as if the marriage had been Charlotte's idea.

Danny's head shot up, " _Mom_!" he hissed, tilting his head toward the guards, "They'll hear you!" he said imploring his mother to keep her voice down.

Charlotte looked Rachel in the eyes, "I told you at the wedding," she said defensively, but still keeping her voice low, "I didn't have a _choice_!"  Glancing at Danny, her expression slightly hopeless, she added, "He would've killed you or Danny if I refused." Monroe was struck by her words; he'd suspected she thought that, he'd previously threatened Danny _and_ her to gain Rachel's cooperation after all, but he'd hoped that by now she'd realize he cared about her and would never have actually _done_ it.

Rachel's eyes fell to her lap, she sighed softly, "You're right... I... just...," she breathed, barely above a whisper.  Looking back up at her daughter, "I'm sorry." Charlotte gave her mother a reassuring smile, and nodded.  "Does he hurt you?"  Rachel's voice was shaky as if she was afraid of the answer.  Danny watched both women intently.

Charlotte looked down for a moment before looking back up at Rachel, "No... Bass hasn't hurt me," she said softly, but with certainty.  She started rummaging through the puzzle box on the table for another piece, apparently hoping Rachel would change the subject.

Monroe noticed Rachel stiffen when Charlotte said his name; she clearly didn't like hearing her daughter using his nickname.  "Do you love him?" she asked incredulous.

Charlotte looked up at her mother again, visibly annoyed, " _No_ ," she said decisively. Monroe's heart sank; he knew she didn't _love_ him, but hearing her say it stung.  After looking down for a second, she added, "I just don't... _hate_ him."  She rummaged through the box again, picked out a piece, and looked back up at Rachel, "Look mom, I don't want to talk about it.  Let's just enjoy the time we have," she looked back at the puzzle for the spot where the piece would go.  Danny nodded toward Rachel in agreement.

Seeing Danny's nod, Rachel turned her gaze to him, he was placing a piece he'd just picked out into the puzzle, "How does this not bother you?" she said accusingly.

Danny looked appalled, "It does!" his voice was a little too loud and he winced and glanced sideways at the guards, "It's just... me and Charlie already talked about all _that_ ," he said quietly.

Rachel looked between her two children, confused; Charlotte clarified, "We see each other every day," she shrugged as she placed another piece.

"He lets _you_ see Danny?" Rachel sounded offended, as if Charlotte had done something wrong. Monroe began pondering ways to kill her and make it look like an accident so Charlotte wouldn't blame him for it.

"Yeah, every afternoon," Charlotte shrugged.  She didn't seem to see why Rachel was upset.

After a few moments, Rachel's expression went from jealous to serious, as if she'd just had an idea. Monroe knew that look; she was on a mission, "Do you enjoy sleeping with him?"

Monroe heard Miles muttering next to him, "I _do not_ need to hear this, Rachel." Monroe had been so focused on the conversation that he'd forgotten anyone else was there.

Charlotte's eyes went wide, " _What_?" she hissed loudly, clearly outraged.  Danny wheezed in reaction to Rachel's question; Charlotte glanced at him, she looked concerned, but she didn't seem to think it was serious and turned back to glare at their mother.  Rachel glanced at him and patted his back, but didn't seem concerned; she was too focused on Charlotte.

Monroe raised himself up enough to see over the sofa, to check if Wright and Diaz would _finally_ act.  They were looking toward them intently as if they'd heard, but still hadn't moved from their spots.  As Monroe sat back down, he turned his head and caught sight of Miles; he was looking at Rachel as if begging her to drop it. Monroe went back to contemplating how best to kill her.

"Do you?" Rachel asked again, determined.  She clearly wasn't going to drop it.

Charlotte turned away from her mother toward where Monroe was sitting.  He could see her smile almost imperceptibly, it was there only for a second, but he was sure he saw it; she did like it. Charlotte turned back to her mother, glaring.  Heaving an irritated sigh, "I _don't_ want to talk about it," she hissed.

Monroe looked up at Nora, grinning broadly, "She _loves_ me!" he said, almost gloating.  " _That's_ what you didn't want me to see, isn't it?"  He still understood the truth; she didn't _really_ , but he couldn't pass up the chance to antagonize Nora, and he suspected that Charlotte's lack of hatred toward him was also something Nora hadn't wanted him to know about.  Glancing at Miles, Monroe knew he wanted to be _anyplace_ else; Monroe _almost_ felt sorry for him.

Nora rolled her eyes, "Enjoying sex with someone isn't the same as _love_ , you idiot!" she scoffed derisively.  Miles put a hand on her shoulder as if to stop her from saying anything else. Monroe ignored her and went back to watching Charlotte.  She may not _love_ him, but not hating him was a good start.

Sometime during their exchange, Charlotte and her family had gone back to working on the puzzle.  Rachel appeared to be deep in thought and after a few moments, she looked up at Charlotte, "You could get him to let us go.  Or, _better yet_ , kill him in his sleep," she said as she placed the piece she was holding.  Now he understood the reason for her question; Rachel wanted to use her daughter as a weapon. Monroe knew that Rachel knew he responded well to willing partners -- enough to be... _influenced_ , ' _Bitch!_ '

"That's crazy, mom!  She'd just be killed," Danny said, hoarse from his earlier wheezing. Charlotte watched him for a few moments, slightly concerned.

Charlotte seemed to think for a moment, "We couldn't do it alone; we'd need help from outside.  I don't even know if Aaron and Nora..."  She trailed off and her expression turned sad.  Rachel opened her mouth to speak but Charlotte continued, "Even if we could escape, where would we go?"  She lowered her eyes for a second and looked back up, her expression resigned, "Knowing Bass, he'd make deals with the other republics to find us." Charlotte heaved a defeated sigh and went back to working on the puzzle.  She wasn't wrong about that; he _would_ search everywhere for her and make whatever deals were necessary to get her back.  _Even_ with Texas or _California_!

After a few moments of awkward silence, Rachel looked as if she'd made another decision, "He made me sleep with him," she said matter-of-factly. Monroe's head snapped toward Rachel, she looked triumphant, like she'd found the perfect strategy to make Charlotte angry enough to go along with her 'plan'.  Danny choked again in reaction to the new shock.

"You lying bitch!" Monroe yelled as he stood to loom over Rachel as best he could with the coffee table in the way.  "You came on to me!" pointing a finger at her, "You're the one who wanted it...!"  He trailed off; realization dawning on him, "So I'd let my guard down so you could escape... _or kill me_... just like you want Charlotte to do."  He reached out to wrap his hands around her throat, but they just went right through her.  He stumbled, nearly falling forward, but he caught himself in time.

"They can't see you _and_ you can't touch them," Nora taunted. Monroe was too angry to think of a good comeback; he let his hands drop to his sides, clenching his fists in frustration as he glared at Rachel.  He hadn't considered that she'd tell Charlotte about _that night_.  He'd thought his warning that she might never see her children again would be enough to keep Rachel quiet.

He looked up at the guards _still_ by the door, " _Why_ aren't you over here stopping this?" he yelled.  "I _told_ you not to let her upset my wife!"  ' _Screw morgue detail!_ '  Diaz and Wright could better serve the Republic _in_ the morgue.

Monroe suddenly realized what Miles had just heard and turned to him, hoping he wasn't too angry.  Miles was seething, but he shrugged as if to say, ' _bigger fish right now_.'  Nora looked disgusted, but Monroe didn't care what she thought.  Slightly relieved that Miles wasn't about to kill him, Monroe turned his gaze back to Charlotte, trying to will her not to hate him. 

She was looking down at the puzzle, twisting a piece in her hand, as if she was deep in thought.  Sighing resignedly, "I know," Charlotte quietly answered, seemingly unfazed.  She looked back up at Rachel; Monroe saw a hint of defiance in her eyes and felt a glimmer of hope that she wasn't angry.  He relaxed a little and sat back down on the floor next to her.

Seeing her mother's confused and deflated expression, "I hear things...," she shrugged, "from the staff and Bass's guards, mostly.  And...," she paused for a second, "Captain Baker...," she trailed off, her face turning solemn. Charlotte had known Jeremy for only a couple weeks, but he'd helped her begin adjusting to her role as First Lady; and apparently told her some things too.  Since Charlotte didn't seem bothered, Monroe wasn't as angry about that as he would've been.  He felt another pang of guilt for killing his last friend in the world.  At the mention of Jeremy's name, Rachel had looked disgustedly at Charlotte for a second, as if she'd wanted to berate her for staying with Monroe after killing him, but for once, she kept quiet.

Monroe saw dread plainly in Rachel's eyes.  "What... did you hear?" she asked tentatively.

Charlotte looked at her mother for a long moment, studying her.  She opened her mouth, but hesitated before finally speaking, her expression turning almost cold, "That sleeping with Bass was _your_ idea," she said flatly.

Rachel went rigid; her panic obvious now, "No... That's not..."

Charlotte cut her off, "I get it, you wanted him to let you go," she shrugged.  Rachel looked relieved for a second, but Charlotte continued, "And you know something about the Blackout; you came here because Miles asked you to, to get the power back on," she said accusingly.  Rachel put her hand up in a 'stop' gesture, looking hurt and like she couldn't take any more, but Charlotte continued, "You told us you were going for supplies!"  Her voice was increasing in volume as she spoke, "We _thought_ you were _dead_ , mom!" she added glancing at Danny who'd started wheezing again.  Rachel was almost cowering at Charlotte's onslaught. Monroe watched his wife with pride as she confronted her mother; these things had obviously been bothering her.

"Charlie...  I...," Rachel put her face in her hands, sobbing.

Monroe saw Wright and Diaz _finally_ appear behind the sofa, " _Mrs. Matheson_ , you were _warned_ not to upset Mrs. Monroe," Wright said ominously.

"It's about time!" Monroe muttered angrily, looking up at both men.

Rachel started to beg the guards not to take them, but Danny's wheezing suddenly became much worse and he collapsed onto the sofa. Charlotte immediately went to him, bounding over and sitting on the coffee table; the finished portion of the puzzle slid onto the floor, "Breathe, Danny," she said soothingly while stroking his forehead.  She looked up at Diaz, "Tell the doctor Danny needs his medicine!"  Diaz quickly went to the door, spoke to one of the guards outside, and came back.

Monroe had never seen Danny have an attack, nor had he understood how Charlotte helped him through them; he was both worried for Danny and impressed by her quick response.  He decided to find Danny a doctor who was better at treating asthma than his own doctor was, one more familiar with making herbal medicines.  He hoped Danny would be alright.

Monroe stood over Rachel again; she was patting Danny's back and sobbing, "Are you happy now, Rachel?" he scolded, "I _told_ you not to upset them."

Miles grabbed Monroe's shoulder and turned him roughly to face him; his anger from before finally exploding, "That's _enough_ , Bass!" he said getting in his face.  "I swear, I _should_ just _let_ you destroy yourself, but too many lives are at stake...," Miles trailed off and regained some control when Nora came up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

At that moment, the grandfather clock struck 2:30; Miles glanced at it and then nodded at Nora.  Nora turned to Monroe, "There's somewhere else we need to be."  She grabbed Monroe's wrist before he could object.  Charlotte and her family immediately began to fade from view.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

This time, Monroe, Miles, and Nora were standing in the middle of a dimly lit, windowless room that looked to be an old storeroom.  There were two men and a woman gathered around a table along a nearby wall.  The men were Randall Flynn and John Sanborn, the woman looked familiar, but Monroe couldn't place her; he only knew he'd never seen her with either man before.  Apparently, this was what Miles wanted him to see so badly.  But since Monroe _needed_ Flynn's help and resources to conquer North America, he still didn't want to believe he was the threat that Miles and Ben had said.

Nora crossed her arms and took a step toward Monroe; she seemed to sense his doubt.  Looking him squarely in the eye, "Haven't you ever wondered," she asked firmly, " _why_ did Flynn wait so long to offer you his help?" she turned toward Flynn and Monroe followed her gaze.  "He's had his _resources_ all along, what was he waiting for?" she asked suspiciously, pausing for a second, "Or _who_...?" she trailed off, clearly hoping Monroe's paranoia would take over. Monroe _had_ asked himself, and Randall, similar questions, but in his desire for the power Flynn offered, Monroe had dismissed his own suspicions and accepted Flynn's non-answers and doubletalk.

Miles stepped forward and Monroe turned to face him, "You blame Ben and Rachel for the Blackout?  They didn't do it... not _all_ of it," his tone resolute.  "They only intended to knock out the power at _a few_ terrorist compounds in Afghanistan.  Knocking out the whole world?"  Miles nodded toward Flynn, "That was _his_ people." Monroe saw Miles shudder; something about Flynn's 'people' bothered him deeply -- not many things _bothered_ Miles Matheson.  He and Nora had managed to plant enough doubt in Monroe's mind to make him _consider_ what they were saying and he began taking mental notes -- starting with their location.

By the logos on the boxes still remaining on the shelves, Monroe concluded they must've been in the Apple store a few blocks from Headquarters; it was the only one in Philly close enough for the group to get to quickly, but was still far enough to be outside the regular patrol perimeter around Headquarters.  The irony of _these_ people meeting _here_ wasn't lost on Monroe.

Next, was a list of persons to be watched, or, _if_ necessary, arrested; so far, it was just these three. Monroe hoped to get the woman's name before Nora took him away again.  Next, he'd need to know what questions to ask at interrogation, so he turned his attention to the meeting.

Sanborn was pacing nervously in front of the table with his arms crossed; he kept moving a hand up to his mouth, seemingly compulsively, and quickly jerking it away.  Flynn was leaning against the wall next to a door watching him impassively.  The woman was sitting cross-legged on the table with her elbows on her knees.  They appeared to be waiting for something.

The woman glared at John, heaved an annoyed sigh, and turned to Randall, "This guy we're meeting?  Can we trust him?"

Flynn turned to face her, "Trust?" he sneered.  " _No_.  But we need him whispering in Monroe's ear if we have any hope of getting him to do everything we want." Monroe wondered who it was and what they were supposed to get him to do.  Whoever it was would be added to his list.

"Monroe has a habit of killing those close to him," she said skeptically.  She glanced at Sanborn, looking as if she wished he were one of them, but he seemed too distracted to notice, looking back to Flynn, "What's to stop him from offing our guy too?"

"Only his wife, I'm afraid," Flynn scoffed.  "She seems to... _affect_ him... though it's tenuous at best," he paused, "Fortunately, we don't need the man for long.  If Monroe kills him after...,"

Randall shrugged indifferently, "it's no big loss."  The woman nodded in understanding.

"Do you think we could turn her?  I understand the marriage wasn't _exactly_ her idea?" the woman said with a hint of disgust.  "If she _affects_ him as you say, she could be useful."

"No...," Flynn said thoughtfully, "she's too much like her mother," he added derisively, "there's too much chance she'd rat us out to Monroe...," he trailed off.  The woman nodded.  After a few seconds passed, Randall's face lit up as if something occurred to him, "We may not be able to _turn_ her," he said eagerly, " _but_ , there is someone who could whisper in _her_ ear," he said grinning deviously.  The woman smiled knowingly.

Monroe clenched his fists angrily at his sides; first Rachel, and now Flynn, wanted to use Charlotte against him.  He wondered who Flynn meant; there weren't many people who had unsupervised access to her.  He'd just have to keep _everyone_ away from her until he knew their identity; she'd hate him for it, but so be it.

Monroe became aware of eyes on him, and glanced at Miles and Nora; they were giving him disapproving looks, as if they'd read his thoughts, for all he knew, they had.  That idea sobered him enough to reign himself in again and return his attention to the meeting.

Sanborn suddenly stopped pacing, looking like he couldn't take 'it' any longer, and poked a finger into his mouth.  Looking to Flynn pleadingly, "This new tooth is driving me crazy!" he said around a mouthful of finger.  "It doesn't fit right."

Flynn chuckled and shrugged, "What'd you expect from _modern_ dentistry?" he scoffed.

The woman rolled her eyes in annoyance and turned to face John, "You'll get used to it.  We _all_ do." she said dismissively.  Looking up at him pointedly, "I _suggest_ you don't fiddle with it.  _Cyanide_ , remember?" she said warningly.  With that, Sanborn blanched and snapped both his hands down to his sides and resumed his incessant pacing.

Monroe's mouth fell open in disbelief, "Cyanide tooth?" he said stunned to no one in particular.  He turned to Miles and Nora beside him, neither seemed surprised, "Who _are_ these guys?" Monroe said incredulously as he turned back to the meeting.  Something he'd need to keep in mind should he decide to arrest them.  _No wonder_ Sanborn was so tightly wound!

"Speaking of things we shouldn't fool with," the woman began, "I'm glad we don't have to go with the original plan," she shuddered.  "It means we have to put up with Monroe longer, but I _never_ liked the idea of nuking Philly and Atlanta."

Monroe's felt faint at the thought of _his_ city as a nuclear wasteland; he stumbled back into the wall behind him and braced himself against it to keep from falling.  He stood there, staring at Miles and Nora, unsure what to say.  Nora's voice brought him back into the present, "They were gonna tell everyone you and Foster nuked each other...," she said gloomily. Monroe could figure out the rest; it was one of the oldest tactics in the book: create the problem and then, conveniently, show up with the solution.

After a long moment, Miles shrugged and gestured toward Flynn's group, "Pay attention, Bass, you might learn something." Monroe shuddered to think what _else_ he might _learn_ , but he managed to compose himself and focus on the meeting again.

"...Which is why luring Monroe to The Tower was _my_ job," Flynn said, giving the woman a patronizing smile. Monroe added 'The Tower' to his ever-growing list of questions.

The woman heaved an irritated sigh, as if she'd been misunderstood, "It would've ruined too much farmland and made it harder to take New England," she said shortly.

Flynn shrugged, "Matheson's little robots would've absorbed the radiation," he said dismissively.  ' _Matheson's little robots?_ '  _That_ , Monroe would have to ask Rachel about.

"It still would've taken a couple years for the radiation levels to be safe again," she retorted.

"Georgia's surrender didn't _just_ save farmland," Flynn said impatiently, as if she was missing the big picture, "it moves up our timetable too," he smirked.  "I'll be sending a message to Gitmo _tomorrow_ telling President Davis it's time to _come home_ ," saying the last words reverently.  "Once everyone gets here," his tone became almost gleeful, "Doyle and Allenford can start setting up the reeducation centers and unleash 'Captain Trips'.  We'll finally be rid of the scum and in control of the rest."

Monroe, Nora, and Miles shared a look, "Isn't that what they called...," Monroe started, "the virus from The Stand..." they all chorused together.  Once again, Miles and Nora didn't seem surprised.

"Yup," Miles confirmed, popping the p. Monroe added Gitmo, three new names, reeducation centers, and 'Captain Trips' to his ever-growing list.  The idea of germ warfare angered Monroe;he knew he was a mass murderer, but even he wouldn't kill so barbarically, ' _Who are these guys!_ '

Sanborn stopped pacing again, "Is brainwashing kids _really_ necessary?" he protested, looking between the woman and Flynn.  Both gave him pointed looks and John went back to pacing, looking put out over being disregarded.  Of all the things they'd discussed, _that_ was what bothered Sanborn enough to speak up?

Flynn looked at the woman chuckling, "The rebels think _they'll_ restore the US.  _Most_ of 'em won't even survive 'Captain Trips'.  _Don't worry_ ," he added, looking annoyed at Sanborn's obvious dismay, "you'll have time to get used to the idea."  Flynn turned back to the woman, "By this time next year, we'll have eliminated Monroe, and then we'll only have Texas and California to deal with," he was almost laughing maniacally.  Even though they were talking about killing him, Monroe still didn't want to accept what he was hearing; it was so much to take in.

Miles seemed to sense his thoughts again, "They want your real estate, Bass...," Miles looked him squarely in the eye, "and clearly, they'll do _anything_ to get it."

Nora stepped forward, "Don't you _see_...?  They don't need _you_ ; they could've restored the power anytime," after a moment's pause, she added, "And by the way, they don't just plan to kill _you_ ; they'll kill _Charlie_ too!" she said emphatically. Monroe shuddered internally at that thought.

Before Monroe could think about it further, there was a knock at the door.  Everyone turned toward it; Sanborn stopped pacing and the woman got down off the table, and Monroe moved closer to get a better look at the guy who was supposed to 'whisper in his ear.'  Flynn opened the door a crack, peeked through the crack, and opened it wider.  Tom Neville and his son Jason walked into the room.

Monroe seethed with anger, "Turncoat sons of bitches!" he growled through gritted teeth at both men.  Tom was the last remaining officer who'd been with the Militia since the Republic's founding, and his betrayal felt like the last nail in his coffin. Monroe had always known Tom was deceitful, but hadn't ever expected it to be directed at him.  Two more names were added to Monroe's growing list.

"Welcome, gentlemen," Flynn said cordially, placing a hand on Tom's shoulder, ushering him farther into the room.  "You already know myself and Mr. Sanborn," Tom nodded to John, who nodded in return, "but this is...," Flynn gestured toward the woman with his free hand.

Neville gave her his best sycophantic grin, "Ms. Simpson," he interrupted.  She smiled cordially and nodded her greeting.  "So nice to see you," Tom said sweetly.

"Good," Flynn said, pleased, "You already know each other.  Becky's our contact with the rebels."  Finally hearing the woman's full name jogged Monroe's memory, she ran the gristmill outside Philly and he'd seen her making deliveries to Headquarters sometimes.

"You're working with the Rebels?" Jason asked the group, incredulously.  Tom gave Jason a warning look, but didn't say anything.

"Not _exactly_ ," Flynn chuckled, bordering on patronizing, "but we _are_ working to restore this _once_ great nation.  We're _Patriots_ ," Flynn said reverently. Monroe noticed Flynn said Patriots like it was a name, not just a descriptor.

Tom smiled broadly, "So, what can we do for you?" he asked in his usual 'eager to serve' tone.

"Before I agree to _anything_ ," Jason interrupted, looking directly at Flynn.  Tom gave him another warning look, but Jason ignored him, "I need to know Charlie... Mrs. Monroe," he corrected himself, his expression turning sad, "will be safe."  Randall and Becky exchanged knowing smirks. Monroe realized Jason was who they'd wanted to _influence_ Charlotte.

Flynn smiled and clapped Jason on the back, "Jason, if you help us," he said jovially, "I promise you, you'll see to Mrs. Monroe's safety... _personally_ ," Flynn assured him.  Jason seemed to like the answer; he nodded and smiled at Randall.

Monroe walked up to Tom and Jason, neither one seeing him, " _You're dead!_ " he seethed, pointing a finger and looking between them.  Looking squarely at Tom, he added, " _And_ your wife!"  Turning to face Jason, " _You_. Will. _Never_. Have Charlotte!" Monroe decided to reassign Jason immediately; the Plains Nation front would do nicely -- their war clans would make short work of him.

"We're out of time," Nora said suddenly, startling Monroe.  "Time to go."

"Wait!" Monroe protested.  "I need to hear more!"  He hoped they'd say something about exactly how and when they planned to kill him so he could be ready.  Miles eyed him suspiciously.

"What _else_ is there, Bass?"  Nora grabbed his wrist and the storeroom faded away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Monroe found himself standing in the middle of his quarters again, his mind reeling from everything he'd just learned.  It was clear that Flynn and his people were everything Miles had said, and should be destroyed before they could carry out their plans.  But Monroe was conflicted: The small part of himself the ghosts had reminded him of was outraged, especially, that they'd planned to nuke Philadelphia and unleash a virus upon _his_ citizens, but the larger part _almost_ admired these 'Patriots' and was more concerned about the legacy they were helping him build for the children he and Charlotte would have.

Once that goal was in sight, _then_ Monroe _would_ get payback from the 'Patriots' for everything that happened to him and those he loved since the Blackout.  Now that he knew something about their plans, he'd be a step ahead, he'd just have to keep them from getting whatever they wanted Neville to talk him into _and_ keep them from getting any messages to Gitmo.  He could already see some flaws in that plan, but he wasn't worried, there was still time to figure it all out.

The more pressing matter at that moment was the last ghost's visit. Monroe had no idea who it would be, but nothing would surprise him at that point.  The other ghosts had already put Monroe _through_ Hell; if this 'Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come' followed tradition, he'd soon _see_ it too.  He wasn't _afraid_ of Hell; how bad could it _really_ be? Monroe was more afraid of what his future on Earth would be than of his soul's final destination.  And, he was tired of being lectured about the man he'd become and what he should do to change it. Monroe heaved a resigned sigh as he glanced at the clock; it was five minutes until 3AM.  He collapsed into his armchair by the fireplace; five minutes seemed like such a long wait.

Monroe was startled out of his musings by the sound of Miles clearing his throat; he'd been so lost in thought, he didn't realize anyone was there. Monroe looked up to see Miles standing a few feet in front of him, looking annoyed that he hadn't noticed him.  Bass looked around the room, surprised when he didn't see Nora, "Where's Nora?"

Miles shrugged, " _Yeah_ , she didn't really want to help your sorry ass in the first place," he said dryly, "So she left."  Bass shrugged, he was fine with that; he had Miles to himself again.

After what seemed like a few seconds, Miles spoke again, " _So_ , last one...," he said forebodingly.

Bass hoped he could talk his way out of it, "We don't really need to do this, do we Miles?" he said, unable to keep the desperation from his voice, as he stood up and took a step toward Miles.  "You were _so right_ about Flynn!  I'll arrest him and everybody at that meeting first thing in the morning."  He wasn't _really_ lying about having them arrested; he _would_ do it _eventually_ , just not that morning.

Miles shook his head, "I _know_ you, Bass; you're so obsessed with power you've probably already decided to work with them _just long enough_..." Monroe opened his mouth to protest, but Miles cut him off, "You need to see what _will_ happen if you don't stop the Patriots _now_!"  Sometimes Bass hated that Miles knew him so well; it'd put a damper on many of his plans over the years.

But, even so, Bass still needed his brother, "You'll come with me again?" he said hopefully.  Miles being there would at least make the last ghost's visit more bearable. Miles looked away from him, " _No_ , not happening," he said firmly.  He faced Bass again, his expression turning as angry as his voice, "Kinda pissed at you right now, Bass."  For a moment Monroe wasn't sure why, but then he remembered what Rachel had said.  He'd hoped Miles would overlook _that_.

"Truth is, I _knew_ , but...," Miles trailed off, taking a deep breath, "How _could_ you, Bass?" his voice was rising in volume, "Rachel, Emma...," he trailed off; the list was a lot longer than either man wanted to be reminded of.  "It's like a _disease_ with you," he spat.  Miles turned away again, looking as if he was fighting the urge to hit Monroe.

Monroe wondered how Miles found out about Emma.  Bass had loved her, but he still regretted betraying Miles; he wanted to explain.  Looking back up at his brother, "Miles...," he started but the furious look Miles gave him took the words right out of his mouth.

Without warning, Miles punched Bass hard in the jaw, making him stumble back a step.  He wasn't surprised, Miles was livid and Bass knew he deserved it, so he took it.  They stood staring at each other for a long moment, Bass still wanted to explain about Emma, but Miles' angry expression plainly said, ' _No!_ '  "And, while I'm at it... _this_ is for making Charlie marry you...," Miles punched Bass again, harder.  Bass fell backwards, hitting his head on the end table as he fell to the floor. Monroe could feel the world spinning as his quarters and Miles faded away along with his consciousness.


	4. The Future is Ours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Parts of this will be hard to read, but keep in mind that this is NOT the last chapter! I have a happy ending in mind -- Charloe should always get to have happy endings! :D  
> Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed/favorited/kudoed, etc. and to everyone who's still with me for this story. <3 <3 <3  
> Enjoy! :D

"Wakey, wakey, General."  The drawling voice drew Monroe from unconsciousness; it seemed... _so familiar_ , but sounded so far away.

"Mmmm," Monroe groaned as he stirred, realizing he was lying face down on a hard surface, probably the floor, and that his head and jaw were throbbing; he gingerly moved his hand to the side of his head, wincing when he found a bump there.  The last thing he remembered was... Miles punching him... apparently, he'd hit his head on the way down.  He slowly turned to his side, opened his eyes, and blinked a few times attempting to clear his vision and find the source of the voice.  All he could see in the dimly lit room was the blurry silhouette of a man crouching on the floor a few feet away.  ' _Jeremy?_ '

" _There_ you are," the man said soothingly, his voice sounding normal now, "Looks like Miles clocked you _good_ ," he added with a soft chuckle.

Monroe blinked a few more times and his vision was finally clear enough to see the man was definitely Jeremy, still dressed in his Militia uniform... the one he was wearing when...  In a moment of instinctive panic at the reminder, he sat up too quickly, making his head swim.  He managed to brace himself against the side of the armchair before he could flop back down. 

" _Easy_ , sir," Jeremy said concerned, moving closer and reaching out with both hands, as if to steady him, but not quite touching.

"I _killed_ you," Monroe said weakly, looking at Jeremy.  He wasn't as afraid as he'd been when he first saw Ben earlier, but he couldn't figure out why Jeremy would be on board for this.  Of all the ghosts who'd haunted him that night, Jeremy was the only one he'd _actually_ ordered killed.  "Don't you want payback?" Monroe asked incredulously.

"No," Jeremy said thoughtfully, shaking his head, his expression serious, "Don't get me wrong, _sir,_ I still say you're insane," his voice grew louder, "and I'm _still_ a little bitter that you actually _believed_ I would try to kill you!"  He took a deep breath before continuing at a lower volume, "But, I _still_ believe in what you and Miles set out to build..." he trailed off, looking down.  Monroe sat there looking at Jeremy, speechless.

After a long moment Jeremy looked back up, his expression softer, "Being dead, it's really quite... liberating,"

" _Huh?_ " Monroe asked, his mouth hanging open.  He'd never expected Jeremy, or anyone for that matter, to say something like that.

Jeremy chuckled softly before his face went serious again, "Right here and now," he pointed down at the floor emphatically, "I can do more to serve the Republic than I ever did when I was alive."

Monroe opened his mouth to say something, though he didn't know what, but Jeremy stopped him, "I have a lot to say, sir.  Please let me finish," he said patiently.  Monroe nodded absently.

"I could've done more to help you stay sane after Miles left, but I didn't," he said contritely.  I saw him as a traitor and wanted us to go after him, _hard_ , so I _let_ you get out of control."  He took a deep breath as if bracing himself, "I had no idea you'd become so power-hungry," he choked out, barely above a whisper "but that's why Flynn chose you over Foster, Carver, or _even_ Affleck," Jeremy lowered his head for a few seconds, as if it'd been difficult to say.  Looking back up, "Helping you now is my chance to make up for that," he said solemnly.  Monroe knew Jeremy wasn't to blame; becoming someone a weasel like Flynn could manipulate was his own fault.  He wanted to say so but Jeremy went on before he could.

"I've been watching you with Charlie," Jeremy smiled slightly, "and I have reason to believe that things _could_ get better for you _and_ the Republic."  Monroe sat up higher, eager to hear more, "She's the best thing to happen to you since...," he paused as if catching himself before saying something he shouldn't, "in years." he corrected, but Monroe knew what he'd been about to say: Shelley.  "She's good for you."

His throbbing head forgotten, Monroe sprang up off the floor using the chair for support, causing Jeremy to stand up too and take a few steps back.  "Thank you!" Monroe exclaimed, relieved, flinging a hand out in front of him for emphasis,  He'd tell Jeremy how he wasn't to blame, _later_ ; finally hearing one of the ghosts argue _for_ Charlotte being with him was more important in _that_ moment.  "Everyone else wants me to let her go."  He looked up at the ceiling, "You hear that, Miles?  Ben?  _Nora?_ " he called out, "I need her!  She _has_ to stay!"

Jeremy's voice interrupted Monroe's elation, "You misunderstand me, sir," he said firmly, "You definitely _need to_ let her go."  Monroe made to protest, but Jeremy cut him off, leaning closer and lowering his voice conspiratorially, "But _maybe_ you could give her a reason to _choose_ to stay?" he said, winking as he leaned away.  Monroe gaped at Baker, that idea had never occurred to him.  He wondered what he could offer Charlotte to make her want to stay with him and, hopefully, eventually, love him.  Deep down, he knew it had to involve giving Rachel and Danny their freedom, but for Charlotte to be willing to stay, they'd have to want to stay too.  ' _How do I get them_ all _to_ choose _to stay?_ '

Jeremy glanced over his shoulder at the clock; Monroe followed his gaze and saw it was 3:10AM; he'd only been out a few minutes.  "Shall we, sir?"  Jeremy reached for Monroe's hand, as if to shake it, "Time's a wastin'," he drawled.

Monroe wasn't looking forward to seeing the future, he dreaded confirmation of his death, among other things, but he if he was going to stay ahead of the Patriots he still needed to know when it would happen.  After a few seconds' hesitation, Monroe took Jeremy's offered hand and his quarters faded away once more.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Monroe and Jeremy were in his office, standing in front of his desk.  It was very different from when he last saw it; that stood to reason, he was seeing what it'd be like a year into the future, but it _felt_ different too, as if it wasn't even _his_ office anymore.  Some of his furniture had been moved or replaced altogether, and a pre-Blackout artificial Christmas tree had been set up in front of one of the windows.  It was decorated with an assortment of glass and metal ornaments that'd seen better days and lit candles were fastened to some of the branches, their light reflecting off the darkened window.  The tree itself was still in good shape and it would've been pretty, but its presence without any other decorations in the large room made it seem like an afterthought.  Monroe wondered where they'd found it, he'd never decorated for any holiday, so it couldn't have been from storage.

Monroe shrugged off his idle musings and moved away from the desk to get a better look at the room's current occupants; Randall Flynn, Becky Simpson, John Sanborn, and three men and two women he didn't know were sitting around the large table he used for conferences and informal meals with his senior officers.  One of the men was sitting at the head of the table, in _his_ chair, as if he owned the place!  Monroe guessed he must be their leader and he was sure he'd seen him somewhere before, but couldn't remember where.

They were enjoying a traditional dinner of roast turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, and other vegetables.  It was obviously a celebration, and since neither his future self, nor any Militia, nor _anyone_ Monroe cared about was in the room, he had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't only in honor of Christmas, but his death too.

As Monroe stood there thinking, Jeremy came up beside him, making him jump: of course he hadn't heard his approach, ' _I wish they'd stop doing that!_ '  Monroe turned toward him and crossed his arms, giving Jeremy an annoyed scowl.

Unfazed, Jeremy grinned, "This is just like 'Back to the Future 2'!" he said enthusiastically.

Monroe sighed resignedly and shook his head, ' _Jeremy, and his movie references!_ '  Jeremy's tendency to be nerdy often amused him, but Monroe was in no mood for pre-Blackout pop culture.  Baker just shrugged, still smiling, and put his hands in his coat pockets.  Monroe realized Jeremy was right, though.  He really was seeing the future, and _he_ would be able to change it, though whether by outsmarting or destroying the Patriots, he hadn't decided, _yet_.

Getting his mind back on the present, Monroe shuddered inwardly at the realization that if he was dead in this future, then Charlotte probably was too.  "Where's Charlotte?" his voice wavered slightly, unable to keep the dread of Jeremy's answer from showing.

"Patience, sir," Jeremy said sardonically, "She's alive and I'll take you to see her when we're done here."  Annoyed at Jeremy's tone, and not entirely convinced, Monroe raised a suspicious eyebrow, "I promise," Jeremy added firmly.  Satisfied, Monroe turned back to watch the celebration.  This was a chance to study his counterpart and he should take advantage of it.

As if on cue, two servants entered through the side door and immediately went about refilling the diners' wineglasses.  When they were finished and left the room, the man at the head of the table cleared his throat loudly, picked up his own glass, and held it up as if to make a toast.  All the guests instantly stopped talking, as if they were afraid not to, and turned toward him, raising their own glasses.

"I'll keep this short, gentleman," he said with a slight chuckle, " _ladies_ ," he added as if in afterthought, nodding in the general direction of the women present.  "I'll save want I to say about our nation's rebirth, and Christmas being our _new_ Independence Day for my big speech  tomorrow," he proclaimed, "but tonight, I want to offer a toast to... Sebastian Monroe," there was a mix of looks around the table ranging from surprise to scorn as he paused, presumably for effect.  "We still have resistance from _Texas and California_ to deal with," he said with obvious contempt, "but, thanks to Monroe's _help_ ," he said jeeringly, "the hardest part is _over_.  The continent will be ours within the year."  He raised his glass a little higher, "To Sebastian Monroe and all the other _useful idiots_ who helped make the _new_ United States possible."  Monroe felt a surge of anger at being ridiculed by these people, his fists clenching at his sides.

Everyone at the table clinked their glasses together, "To Sebastian Monroe," they chorused

The main continued before anyone could take a drink, "What a beautiful thing it was to see him hanging from the end of a rope yesterday," the man added, smirking.  Everyone at the table laughed, "Hear, Hear," and drank.  ' _So, I have until next Christmas_ ,' Monroe noted.  Now he knew when to expect it, he'd be _ready_.

As Monroe stood glaring at his 'nemesis', he crossed him arms in front of him and put a hand on his chin contemplatively, wincing when his fingertips brushed the spot where Miles had punched him.  Monroe was more angry with the man than he was upset by the knowledge his Republic was gone.  He thought about what he would do to him once he got everything he wanted and really wished Rachel hadn't killed Strausser.

He needed a name to go with the object of his ire.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jeremy take a step closer, as if sensing Monroe was about to ask him a question.  Giving Jeremy a sideways glance, not taking his eyes fully from the man, " _Who exactly_ is this douchebag?"

Jeremy chuckled as he crossed his arms in front of him and nodded toward said 'douchebag', " _That_ is one Jack Davis; former Secretary of Defense and self-appointed president of the United States."  Monroe realized that's why he'd thought Davis looked familiar, serving in the military meant knowing who was in charge.  He glanced at Jeremy hoping he'd elaborate; Jeremy nodded in understanding, "After the real President and Speaker went down in Air Force One," Monroe cringed, remembering the horrible sight of planes falling from the sky the night the Blackout hit, "he had the VP and everyone else in the line of succession ahead of him killed."

"Mmm," Monroe couldn't help but be impressed by the extent of Davis' ambition.  He distractedly drew a finger across his bottom lip, "What else can you tell me about him and the others here?" he made a sweeping gesture with his hand.

"Nothing you can't find out for yourself from interrogating Flynn and his team," Jeremy said matter-of-factly.  Monroe scowled at him again, but Jeremy just looked defiant, "And you _need_ to interrogate them, ASAP, before Flynn can send to Gitmo for these people," he gestured in the general direction of the table, "Like, first thing in the morning, General," Jeremy added firmly.  Jeremy was clearly withholding information, trying to goad Monroe to action.

Before Monroe could even think about protesting Jeremy's evasiveness, the office's main doors opened and a man dressed all in khaki, right down to his boots, entered and walked, _almost_ marching, up to Davis.

"We have him, sir," he said smiling gleefully.  Monroe recognized him; he'd been in the Militia under Strausser's command, and he wondered just how many of his men the Patriots had already turned in the present.

Davis quickly swallowed the wine he had in his mouth and wiped it with his napkin, "Good work, Sergeant Wilson.  Ask Major Neville to join us, and then bring in our _other guest_ ," he said meaningfully.

"Yes sir!" Wilson said, smiling knowingly before turning and walk-marching back out of the room.

"Well, it seems I have some business to attend to with Victor and Randall," Davis announced, exchanging knowing looks with the two men.  "As a special _thank you_ to you all," Davis gestured with both hands to everyone at the table, "I've ordered something special for dessert," he said magnanimously.  "Roger, would you show everyone to the library?" he said looking to the man on his right.  He nodded and stood up, looking slightly put out, as the others murmured their 'thank yous' and got up from their seats, and began leaving the room.  "We'll join you shortly," Davis called after them.  Davis, Flynn, and the man he called Victor remained seated at the table, leaving the seat Roger vacated empty, presumably for Neville.

Monroe wondered how long he'd have to wait; he wanted to see what else Jeremy needed him to see, but he was getting antsy.  Right when he was about to tell Jeremy he'd had enough, Tom Nevilleentered the office.  He was wearing the same all-khaki uniform as Wilson; apparently, he'd _fully_ switched sides.

As Neville walked toward Davis, Monroe moved to stand on the left side of the table so he could watch both men more closely.  Monroe watched as Neville quickly scanned the food and empty plates around the table before stopping to stand at attention.  Monroe thought he saw... resentment? in his eyes for just a second, apparently he hadn't been invited to the party.

Jeremy moved to Tom's left, looked him up and down, shook his head, and leaned toward him threateningly, " _Traitor!_ " he sneered, "I _never_ liked you."  He leaned back, crossing his arms disgustedly in front of him, and made his way over to stand beside Monroe.  Monroe couldn't help but smile at his friend; he hated that son of a bitch too.

Monroe saw Wilson stick his head in the door and nod at Davis as if giving a signal, leaving it open a crack behind him.  Neville seemed uneasy for a moment as if he saw the slight change in Davis' expression, but he recovered quickly; Neville was a master.

"You asked to see me, Mr. President?" Tom asked, his tone eager.  Monroe couldn't put his finger on it, but something told him Neville was hiding something and he wondered if Davis could tell too.

"Yes, Tom," Davis answered cordially, "It's time we discussed your future with us."  Neville seemed to brighten and relax, probably thinking he was about to be promoted.

"Where are my manners?" Davis drawled, apparently realizing Tom was still standing at attention.  "Please," Davis said pleasantly, indicating the empty chair next to him.

"Thank you, sir," Neville said smiling as he sat down.

"Would you like a drink?" Davis made to reach for a wine bottle still on the table.

Tom smiled sweetly, "No, thank you, sir," he answered politely.

Davis raised an eyebrow and shrugged slightly, "How's your wife?"  With the mention of Julia, Monroe couldn't help wonder if she was already banging Davis.  Julia Neville would do anything or _anyone_ to advance her and Tom's position; she'd even come on to him, and Miles too, once when Tom was away.  Monroe admired her willingness to do _anything_ for her family's sake, but he was never interested in his officers' wives.

"She's good," Tom answered.  "She's been busy getting the house ready for Christmas tomorrow," he grinned.

Davis nodded approvingly, "And Jason?  I haven't seen him around the last few days," Davis sounded concerned, but Monroe could tell he was fishing.  The 'brightness' left Neville for a second, and Monroe knew whatever Tom was hiding had to do with Jason.

"He's been a little under the weather," Tom said conversationally.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Davis said apologetically, "Give him my best, won't you?"  Monroe could see Davis wasn't buying that Jason was sick and he was pretty sure Neville knew it too.

After a long moment of apparently studying Neville, Davis spoke again, "We have a problem, Tom.  Someone broke into Mrs. Monroe's quarters last night.  Any idea who might be responsible?" there was a dangerous edge to Davis' voice as though he already knew the answer.

Monroe saw a moment's panic in Neville's eyes before he answered, "No sir," he lied smoothly.  He was enjoying watching Neville squirm.  Monroe noticed Flynn and the other man 'casually' watching Neville as if they might be enjoying it too.

"Maybe Julia... or Jason... know something?  We're asking everyone," Davis added as if to put Neville more at ease.

"No sir," Neville's voice wavered so slightly that Monroe wouldn't have heard it if he wasn't paying attention.

Davis' face changed as if he'd noticed too and was already tired of playing the game; he clearly didn't like being lied to, "Cut the crap, Tom.  We know it was Jason," he said dangerously, "trying to help Mrs. Monroe," he sneered, "and her children escape justice."

Bass heard everything Davis said, he'd even noticed the tone he'd used when mentioning Charlotte, but one word stood out.  He looked at Jeremy, " _Children?_ " he asked incredulously, his mouth agape.  He knew Charlotte would eventually become pregnant -- he wasn't even trying to prevent it -- but children, _plural_?

Jeremy grinned broadly, "Yup, twins!  One each," he said happily, "They'd be about 3-and-a-half months old," he added helpfully.  Bass's heart leapt at the thought of them, and of Charlotte surviving their births.  He was finally going to be a father and _soon_.

Bass did the math in his head, "That means Charlotte's pregnant now?" he said excitedly, it was more statement than question.

"Yes.  But it's so early, even _she_ doesn't know for sure yet," Jeremy said.  Bass was already looking forward to being there for all the important moments: Helping Charlotte through the discomforts and anxieties of pregnancy, seeing their children born and taking their first breaths, actually _being_ a dad...

Monroe was shaken from his happy thoughts by a commotion near the door.  Sometime while he'd been distracted, Wilson had returned with two other zombies in khaki.  They were surrounding a battered and handcuffed Jason Neville slumped on his knees on the floor.  Davis, Flynn, and Victor were standing in front of him, and Wilson had somehow disarmed Neville and was holding a gun on him.  Monroe and Jeremy both moved closer to get a better look.

Tom, ignoring the gun aimed at him, went to his son, falling to his knees in front of him and putting his hands on his shoulders, "What did you do, boy?" he yelled in his face.

Jason ignored his father and looked up at Flynn, "You told me she'd be safe if I helped you!" his speech slurred by a split and swollen lip.  Wilson roughly pulled Tom back up, he tried to resist until Wilson aimed his gun at Jason; the not-so-veiled threat making Tom give up.

Flynn looked down at Jason smirking maliciously, "And you were dumb enough to believe me."

Davis took a step closer to Jason and looked down at him, "We can't let her go free just so she can rally Monroe loyalists behind her, son " he said firmly.  Davis nodded to the guards beside Jason and they pulled him roughly to his feet.

"Charlie wouldn't do that!" Jason spat, "She never loved him!" he insisted.

"By trying to break them out," Davis continued, completely ignoring Jason's words, "all you did was make it so they spend their last days in a filthy," he said disgustedly, "but more secure, jail cell.  And we had to move up their execution too.  Secretly, of course; we can’t have martyrs either," he added with contempt.

"NO!" Jason shouted at Davis, struggling against his bonds and the men holding him.

Davis turned his gaze back to Tom, "We appreciate all you've done for the New United States, Tom.  But we won't be needing your services any longer."  Two more men came in and moved to stand on either side of Neville.

Turning to Jason, "We forgive you Jason.  You were just blinded by a pretty face.  It happens to the best of us," he said condescendingly.

"What're you going to do with him?" Tom choked out, apparently not concerned about his own fate.

"Mr. Doyle will take good care of him," Davis said gesturing to Victor.  He'll make a _fine_ cadet," he said proudly. "NO!" Tom spat, "you said Jason-."  The angry look Davis gave him effectively cut him off.

"I lied," Davis sneered as Tom and Jason were dragged from the room.

With everything he'd just witnessed, Monroe was more anxious than ever to see Charlotte.  He didn't know what he could do to help her here, but maybe he could learn something that would help him keep his Charlotte safe in the present while he worked with Flynn.  He turned to Jeremy, almost getting in his face, "Take me to see her _now_ , Captain," he ordered.

"Yes sir," Jeremy said, putting his hand on Monroe's shoulder; the room began to disappear.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Monroe and Jeremy were now standing in an empty, unlocked cell in the jail where most of the Republic's high-level prisoners were held and interrogated.  Monroe could see Charlotte, Rachel, and the twins in an adjacent cell through the bars that separated them.  Charlotte was sitting on the cot feeding the baby in her arms, rocking and humming softly, while Rachel slowly paced the small cell cuddling the other, murmuring softly.  They both _appeared_ happy on the surface, but he knew it had to be for the sake of the children.  Looking into Charlotte's eyes as she looked up at her mother for a moment, he could see that, inside, she'd given up.  Monroe wished Jason had succeeded in rescuing them, even though it would've put his wife and children in the Neville's hands.

From where he stood, all Monroe could see of his children were the wispy blonde curls on their heads.  He gripped the bars separating the two cells with both hands until his knuckles turned white, desperately wanting to get a better look at his family.  Turning to Jeremy, "Why are we-"

Jeremy cut him off, " _First_ , that cell," tilting his head toward it, "is too small for all of us to fit comfortably and still let you get a good look at your family.  And _second_ ," he paused for a moment as if he didn't want to say the rest, "after the last time you were around Rachel, we thought it best to keep you separated."

Monroe raised an eyebrow, " _We?_ "

" _OK_ ," Jeremy shrugged, "it was Miles' idea.   _Not_ that you could _actually_ hurt her here," he shrugged again, " _You know_... _These are but shadows...yada yada..._ ," he deadpanned.

Jeremy pointed to the baby Charlotte was holding, "That's Nora Margaret," he said, effectively changing the subject.  Moving his hand to the baby in Rachel arms, "and _that's_ Sebastian William Monroe, Jr," he said with a flourish.  Monroe was overcome with pride that his son would carry on his name.

Monroe sat heavily onto the cot next to him, his eyes never leaving his family.  He _desperately_ wanted to hold his children, but he remembered how his hands had passed through Rachel earlier, and what Jeremy had said about this being like Back to the Future 2 -- he was only seeing a possible future; _his_ Nora and Sebastian were still growing inside their mother.  The family he was seeing here represented what would happen if he failed to outsmart the Patriots.

As Monroe sat there thinking about family, he suddenly realized something was amiss, "Where's Danny?" he asked quietly, looking up at Jeremy, bracing himself for the answer he suspected was coming.

Jeremy leaned against the bars and sighed sadly, his arms crossed in front of him, "He died four months ago when Flynn's people caused him to have a fatal asthma attack," he said disgustedly.  "Danny wasn't fit to be one of their cadets and he didn't meet the _new_ American ideal," he said scathingly, "so they offed him."

Something else to hate the Patriots for, "He didn't even get to meet his niece and nephew," Monroe said sadly, as he lowered his head.  "Did I _know_ they killed him?"  He _needed_ to know he hadn't been complicit somehow.

"No," Jeremy assured him; Monroe looked back up, relieved.  Jeremy turned his head toward Rachel, " _Rachel_ suspected they did it though.  There were a lot of deaths all over the Republic at the time.  It looked like garden variety typhus, but she _insisted_ there was a pattern, that all the victims were... _flawed_ somehow," he said thoughtfully.  Jeremy turned back to Monroe, "She was pissed at you for not investigating," he chuckled softly, "but it just looked like any other post-Blackout epidemic to everyone else, _so_...," he shrugged as he trailed off.  "Thing is... she was right, only those the Patriots deemed ' _undesirable_ ' died from it," Jeremy said disgustedly.

"Captain Trips," Monroe said knowingly.  Jeremy nodded emphatically.  "But you said Danny died of asthma?"

"They didn't want to waste a dose of the virus on him," Jeremy said matter-of-factly as he shrugged."  Monroe realized he'd have to keep Danny safe too while working with the Patriots.

Monroe heaved a sigh and turned his head in time to see Charlotte laying Nora gently on the cot next to her, then Rachel handing her little Sebastian.  Charlotte began humming again to their son as she got him situated at her other breast, Rachel picked up Nora and cuddled her to her shoulder to burp her, holding her the way she had Junior.  Out of the corner of his eye, Monroe noticed Jeremy looking uncomfortable; he'd turned away from Charlotte while her breasts were exposed.  Monroe appreciated that and gave him a slight smile as he glanced at him.

"Did she have an easy delivery?" Monroe asked hesitantly not taking his eyes from Charlotte and their son.  He could see they were all alive and well, but after losing Shelley and his first child as he did, he was still worried and nothing short of prenatal exams by a real doctor, and pre-Blackout delivery room conditions would ever truly ease his fears.

"You got Charlie the _best_ obstetrician in Philly, and Rachel talked you into using an amplifier so she could do ultrasounds and such."  Monroe's dismay over having to be talked into something so reasonable must've shown, Jeremy let out a bark of laughter, "It _didn't_ take _much_ to convince you," he said reassuringly.  "The amplifier died during the delivery though," he warned, "and she bled enough to be worrisome, but you _really did_ get her a good doctor and she pulled her through without it."  Jeremy crouched on the floor in front of Monroe, getting him to look him in the eye, "Charlie's gonna be OK, sir.  She's tough," he said encouragingly.  Bass smiled at his old friend, silently thanking him; Jeremy had been there when Shelley and the baby died and he knew exactly what Bass needed to hear.

Jeremy stood back up and Monroe followed suit, sighing as he got up from the cot and grabbing the bars between the cells again.  There was something on his mind since seeing Charlotte before, and realizing time was short, he turned his head to look at Baker, "Did you tell Charlotte about me and Rachel?" he asked warily, clutching the bars tighter.  He wasn't angry, but he didn't particularly like the idea that Jeremy would just air his dirty laundry to his wife.

"I didn't bring it up," Jeremy said firmly, "But yeah, I told her," he admitted.  "She said one of the maids told her," Monroe raised a questioning eyebrow, "She wouldn't tell me who," Jeremy said hastily, but Monroe had a good idea who it was; there was only one maid who'd been around that long.  "I assured her you didn't _force_ yourself on Rachel."  Jeremy was the only other person who knew that to be true; he'd been there that night -- he'd gotten the hell out of there before _it_ happened -- but he'd seen Rachel make the first move.  Monroe regretted not joining him ever since.

"Thank you for that," Monroe said relieved, loosening his hold on the bars and turning his head back to his family.

"Glad I could help," Jeremy said glibly.

As he watched his wife and children, Bass wondered what he could do to get Charlotte to stay.  He hadn't planned to fall in love with her, but he had.  Marrying Charlotte had been intended to keep Rachel in line since he no longer had the threat of Strausser to hold over her head.  At least, that's how he'd justified it at the time, but deep down, he knew it'd also been to keep a part of Miles _with_ him.  Monroe heaved a sigh, steadying himself to ask Jeremy another question that he feared the answer to, "Could she ever love me?" his eyes never leaving Charlotte.

" _Maybe_ ," Jeremy hesitated, " _if_ you showed her the man you once were, and _could_ be again."

He turned to face Jeremy, it was time Bass told him what he'd wanted to say earlier, but a loud bang echoed from inside the cellblock, effectively silencing him.  Monroe recognized the sound; a security door had just been closed, which meant someone was coming.  He turned from Jeremy to see that Rachel had sat down on the cot beside Charlotte and was holding, and trying to comfort, two very fussy babies, while Charlotte looked apprehensively out into the hallway, buttoning her shirt, as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder.  She took Junior back from Rachel and cuddled him to her shoulder, patting his back gently, "I'm sorry Bassy, I know you weren’t done yet," she said softly, putting her cheek to his head.

Rachel cuddled Nora a little closer, "It's alright," she said, kissing the top of her head.

After a few moments, eight guards came down the hallway led by Sergeant Wilson, carrying two sets of shackles.  They stopped in front of Charlotte and Rachel's cell, "But it's not dawn!" Rachel protested weakly, holding Nora even closer as Charlotte did the same with little Sebastian, eyeing the men angrily.

"It's close enough," Wilson taunted as he unlocked the cell.  Monroe realized they were being taken to their execution; Davis had meant _now_ when he said it'd been moved up.  "So, are we gonna do this the easy way, or the hard way?" Wilson grinned as if he preferred the latter.

Wilson stood outside, watching, as two guards entered the cell and pulled Charlotte and Rachel roughly to their feet and to the door, then restrained them as two more tried to wrench the crying babies from their arms.  "Looks like the hard way," Wilson smirked, tilting his head to two others to help hold the struggling women.

Monroe tried to remind himself that he couldn't do anything to stop them, but his instinct to protect his family took over.  He bolted from his unlocked cell and moved to snap the neck of one of the guards trying to take the babies, but his hands passed right through him.  Momentum carried Monroe into the cell, and he fell forward onto the cot behind them.  By the time he righted himself, the men had the children.  Charlotte and Rachel were struggling to get free and Charlotte was yelling, "Where are you taking them?"  The two guards took the squalling babies down the hall, back the way they'd come.

"Don't worry," Wilson scoffed, "You'll see them again... before...," he trailed off, smirking.

Monroe watched helplessly from the cot as Wilson and one of the remaining guards came in and put the shackles on the women as they continued to struggle furiously against the men holding them.  Once the restraints were in place, they were dragged down the hall.

Monroe sat there for a few moments uncertain what to do, but he _had_ to do _something_.  He knew it was probably still futile, but he went after them, reaching the door his family was taken through a second too late.  He tried to pull it open, but it wouldn't budge.  He slumped, out of breath, against the wall, his head down, just as Jeremy caught up to him.  Monroe's _rage_ and the assurance that everything that'd just happened represented only a _possible_ future were the only things keeping him from crumpling into a miserable heap on the floor and taking out his sidearm...

Monroe knew what his choices were: Continue working with Flynn's people, hoping to outsmart them until he had the entire continent, _then_ kill them; _or_ be happy with the territory he had and destroy them now, thus ensuring his family and citizens would be safe from those US government pretenders.  It'd finally become clear to him that doing the former posed too great a risk that he'd miscalculate along the way, one mistake is all it would take to lose _everything_.  He needed to obliterate the Patriots.  _Now!_

It disturbed Bass that he hadn't been convinced to make that decision sooner.  Was he really _so_ far gone, as Miles had said only minutes before he was killed, that he wouldn't believe the ghosts of some of the people he'd trusted most in his life?  Even seeing Randall's meeting or those bastards celebrating his death hadn't fully convinced him; it'd taken seeing his wife and infant children dragged away to be executed to finally wake him up.

"I'm _supposed_ to take you to Hell and show you what happens to you if you _don't_ turn things around," Jeremy announced, startling Monroe from his thoughts and making him look up to see his old friend studying him.  "But, since I really don't wanna go down there, I'll give you a choice," he said looking Monroe squarely in the eyes, "I take you down there to see _your_ _personal_ hell -- watching _everyone_ , and I _do_ mean _everyone_ , you _ever_ cared about dying over and over again, _forever_ ," he said with finality.  " _Or_ , you agree to wipe out these Patriot bastards.  And let Charlotte go," he added hastily, as if afraid Miles was listening, but winking at Monroe.

" _I'll do it_ ," Monroe said firmly without hesitating.  "I'll _annihilate_ them," his said through gritted teeth, pointing toward the door they'd just taken his family through.  "And, I'll let them go," he added resignedly.  He'd think of some way to get Charlotte to stay voluntarily, he just didn't know what that was yet.

Jeremy raised a skeptical eyebrow and considered Monroe for a long moment before answering, "Right answer," he said approvingly, smiling broadly.

"Can give you some sage advice?" Jeremy asked, " _Be_ the man I followed in the beginning," he pleaded, not waiting for an answer.  "Make the Republic into a legacy you can be _proud_ to leave your children.  You'll gain a whole lot more if you make the Republic a better place than you _ever_ will with force."  Monroe nodded; Jeremy was right, it was time to make some changes.

"And you should really _talk_ to Charlie," he continued, his tone lighter, "she's _really_ smart and has some good ideas."  Jeremy paused as if to let his words sink in, "You could do a lot worse for an advisor, sir," he added helpfully.

" _Oh_ , and in case you _still_ think you can outwit them, they have spies _everywhere_!  Even if you _do_ outsmart Flynn, someone could still get a message to Gitmo or kill you before you could stop them."  Monroe nodded in agreement.

Monroe was already considering his strategy, but the knowledge there were probably other turncoats like Neville and Wilson was nagging at him, "Jer, I need to know... are there other officers... like Tom?" Monroe asked seriously.

"Right now, they just have a few spies within the lower ranks, like _Private_ Wilson," Jeremy sneered.  "They only _just_ started reaching out to the senior officers; Tom was the first."  Monroe felt some relief at that, but he needed to act fast to keep more from being turned.

Jeremy looked thoughtful for a moment, "There _are_ others, but for what you're gonna need to do, I'd go with Colonel Epstein, Major Jackson, Captain Grant, and Captain Hernandez," he counted them off with his fingers.  " _They_ can suggest anyone else you might need," he added.  Like the excellent officer, advisor, and friend Jeremy was, he'd anticipated Monroe's next question.

Jeremy clapped his hands once, "Well, I guess we're done here," he said, moving to put his hand on Monroe's shoulder.

"Wait!  Just one more question," Monroe asked hurriedly, almost desperate.  "Will Charlotte stay?"  His eyes started to well up with tears, both afraid of the answer and sad that his time with the ghosts, his friends, was over.

"I _honestly_ don't know," Jeremy said sympathetically.  "I only know what I've shown you -- what _would've_ happened."  Monroe was disappointed, but he'd expected an answer like that.

"I'm sorry... I didn't believe you," Bass said, choking back a sob.

"I forgive you, Bass," Jeremy said, pulling him into a hug.  As they embraced, Jeremy and the jail suddenly disappeared and everything went black.


	5. The Cold Gray Light of Christmas Morn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry it's taken me so long to finish this chapter. Also sorry for the length; it just wouldn't let me shorten it.  
> If anyone notices anything wrong -- missing sentences/paragraphs -- anything that doesn't make sense, please let me know. I've had a lot of problems with Word the last few days and I'm afraid some of my edits may have been lost.  
> Thanks so much to the ladies of the Charloe Book Club for helping me get unstuck on a few occasions while writing this chapter. You guys are life savers! <3

_Monroe stood alone in the darkness that now surrounded him with no idea where he was or how to get back home. The other ghosts had returned him to his quarters when they were through with him, but Jeremy seemed to have just left him in the middle of, literally, nowhere. Bass began to wonder if he'd taken him to Hell after all._

_As he looked around hoping to see something,_ anything _, a small light appeared in the distance, growing larger as it seemed to move closer like the headlight of a speeding train soundlessly coming toward him. Monroe tried to step aside, but no matter where he moved, the light seemed to follow him._

_As the light overtook him, Miles' disembodied voice seemed to come from all directions as if it was coming from the light itself, "Bass... I'm trusting you," he said earnestly._

_"Miles!" Bass called out desperately, looking into the light, trying to find him._

Monroe opened his eyes and sat up in a panic, unsure where he was. Wherever it was, it was too bright and he had to close his eyes again. As he sat there catching his breath, vivid and disturbing images filled his mind, all involving the ghosts of lost friends, Randall Flynn, and a group calling themselves 'the Patriots'. Somehow, it all reminded him of ' _A Christmas Carol_ '.

After a few seconds, Monroe tentatively opened his eyes, realizing, with great relief, that he was in his quarters and that the brightness was just morning light streaming in the windows. Looking down, he saw he was in bed, though he didn't remember _going_ to bed. Fortunately, the room was warm, so even if he didn't remember going to bed, at least he'd remembered to stoke the fire first.

Monroe was still wearing his uniform, though at least he'd taken his boots off. Going to bed still dressed was something that only happened when he passed out drunk, but that hadn't happened since the wedding. He did have a slight headache, but no other symptoms of a hangover that would suggest he'd drank too much. With the intensity of the images in his mind and not being able to remember going to bed, Monroe concluded that he must've had a nightmare; that was the only _logical_ explanation.

Even if it was just a dream though, the things Monroe was remembering from it bothered him enough that he decided to ask Flynn a few questions, if only for his peace of mind. As it happened, he had a meeting scheduled with Randall for that afternoon to discuss his Plains Nation takeover. Conquering the Plains could wait until he had answers.

Monroe's musings were interrupted by a soft groan and movement coming from the bed beside him. He turned his head and saw Charlotte stretching and yawning, squinting her eyes against the light. Seeing her, he recalled seeing Patriots dragging her away to be executed in his nightmare, and he found himself _needing_ reassurance. Bass quickly repositioned himself so he could lay his head on her shoulder and put his arm around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. He was glad she'd come home instead of staying the night with her mother or he would've had to go looking for her. It wasn't the first time he'd needed her to comfort him after a nightmare; there'd even been times when Charlotte needed him to chase her monsters away. Seeing Miles die in front of them had done a number on them both.

"You have another nightmare?" Charlotte asked tiredly, her voice hoarse from disuse, "I heard you call out for Miles," stifling another yawn. Bass didn't realize he'd actually yelled out.

"Yeah," Bass groaned hoarsely as he snuggled her shoulder, fully relaxing against her as relief that she really was ok washed over him. "So glad you're here," Bass purred, "How'd it go with your mom?" He felt her stiffen slightly against him as if she didn't want to talk about it.

"It was good," she said cheerfully, but hesitantly, and Bass could sense a 'but' coming. After a long moment, Charlotte continued, "But Danny had an attack," she sighed, "and Mark," Monroe was confused for a second, but then remembered Charlotte always called her guards by their first names, "made me come back here after Danny fell asleep in his room." Monroe felt a sense of déjà vu, remembering that Danny had had an attack in his dream too.

"Tell me about your nightmare?" Charlotte asked as she moved her arm so she could gently scratch the side of his neck, clearly trying to change the subject and distract him from any further talk about her visit.

"Mmmm, you know I love it when you do that," Bass murmured, sliding his hand from her waist to her other shoulder. He was perfectly happy to let her distract him, but he didn't want to talk about his dream. He'd much rather spend the morning making up for the time they'd lost the night before.

"I have a better idea," Bass smiled seductively as he propped himself up so he could see her face and caress her cheek. He leaned down to kiss her, but her sudden worried expression stopped him.

"What's this?" she asked uncertainly, touching his left jaw gently. Bass winced at the unexpected pain. "Looks like somebody hit you?" she asked concerned.

Bass stopped cold and sat back on his heels next to her, his mouth agape. Someone had indeed hit him: Miles. Curious, he touched his jaw, wincing again, then touched his head where he remembered hitting it on the table, finding the bump right where he'd found it before, still tender.

Bass's mind was racing; as insane as it was, everything actually happened just as he remembered: seeing his past, watching Charlotte with her family, Flynn's meeting with Neville, Davis gloating over his death and executing Charlotte and his children... _His children_! The 'dream' being real meant Charlotte really was pregnant. With twins! It meant the ghosts were real too, and they'd all demanded he let Charlotte and her family go. Monroe had no idea how he was going to do that without Charlotte leaving too, but that'd have to wait. There were much bigger fish to deal with and... _Miles_ said he was trusting him to do so.

The best chance of defeating the Patriots would be to wipe them out before they could leave Cuba, so Monroe's first priority was keeping Flynn from sending that message to Gitmo, and it couldn't wait for the meeting, he needed to act _now_. He just needed to figure out how to take all known Patriots into custody without alerting anyone who might be working with them.

"What's wrong?" Charlotte asked, alarmed, propping herself up on her elbows.

"There's something I _have_ to do," Bass said turning and climbing out of the bed, having to untangle his legs from the covers in the process. He went to the wardrobe, got out a clean uniform, and draped it over the back of a chair. Monroe knew he couldn't afford to waste time, but he needed to appear as if nothing was different, and that included being clean and dressed neatly. "I'll explain later," he said distractedly, catching sight of the bruise in the large mirror on the wardrobe door. Considering how tender it was, it looked better than he expected. There was no way to hide it, but at least no one would dare ask him about it.

Bass looked at Charlotte in the mirror as he quickly unbuttoned his wrinkled shirt and threw it into the nearby hamper, "You can spend the day with Danny, if you want," he said to her reflection, "but _not_ Rachel," he said taking off his undershirt and tossing it into the hamper. Charlotte sat all the way up; looking even more anxious at the mention of her mother, as if she was afraid Monroe knew Rachel had caused trouble during her visit. Bass turned to face her, "I'm not angry with her," he said soothingly, "I need her to help me with something," he smiled as he crawled back onto the bed to give her a reassuring kiss. He hated the idea of involving Rachel, but since she worked with Flynn, he realized she was his best chance. "I know what happened last night, but _I swear_ , I'm not angry," Bass said caressing her cheek. She smiled tentatively; he could tell she was still worried, but there wasn't time to explain further. Bass reluctantly got back off the bed, and finished undressing as he watched Charlotte's reflection in the mirror, studying him as if she'd never seen him before. Monroe wished he could take a bath as he did every morning, but he'd have to settle for a quick wash and shave at the washbasin in the bathroom. Oh, how he miss showers!

Monroe spent the short time it took to wash, put on his pants and socks, and shave refining his plan for arresting the known Patriots. He looked up as he finished rinsing his freshly shaved face to see Charlotte in the mirror over the basin, watching him. She was leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed in front of her, wearing the kimono he'd given her on their wedding night; she looked beautiful, as she always did. He turned to face her, ' _Later_ ,' he chided himself, wishing he could take it off her.

Charlotte reached for a towel from the rack beside her and handed it to him before resuming her previous stance, "Something's different about you," she said musingly, one eyebrow raised.

Bass patted his face dry as he watched her watching him. He wanted to tell her how much really had changed and how different things would be from now on, but it would have to wait, "You might say I had an epiphany," he said bluntly, tossing the towel into the hamper. "There's going to be some big changes around here," he said seriously, "And it starts with arresting Randall Flynn," he said shrewdly.

"That must've been _some_ nightmare," Charlotte said wryly, smiling approvingly, but Bass could see she was skeptical.

"You have _no_ idea," he said drolly.

Monroe finished dressing, combed his hair, and looked at the clock; it was 7:40. He needed to get to Rachel's quarters before she was taken to her workshop as usual at 8:00. He wasn't sure he could convince her to help, but Monroe knew Rachel hated Randall Flynn, so there was at least a chance. He just hoped she hated Flynn _more_ than she hated him. Bass said a silent prayer that everything would go according to plan.

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Knowing some of his own people could be sympathetic to the Patriots, Monroe needed to make sure _no one_ overheard his conversation with Rachel, so when he arrived at her quarters, he ordered the guards to wait outside and close the door behind him. It was an unusual order, but as far as they knew, Monroe was berating her for her behavior the previous evening and didn't want to be disturbed.

Rachel was sitting on the windowsill, staring blankly out the window, still wearing the clothes she'd worn the night before; it was clear she hadn't slept. He noticed her stiffen when the door closed, as if aware of his presence, but she didn't look up.

Monroe saw her breakfast sitting untouched on the table, and as he walked toward her, he couldn't resist stopping to take a piece of toast from the tray. He didn't have time to sit down to breakfast and it was a _long_ time until lunch.

Rachel glared at Monroe as he stood there defiantly eating the toast and then gulping down her glass of apple cider. "Just get on with it, Bass," she said impatiently.

Rachel obviously thought he was there to dole out her punishment. And Monroe _wanted_ to tell her she would never see Charlotte and Danny again, but _everything_ had changed literally overnight and he needed her on his side. He told himself there was no harm done since Charlotte didn't seem bothered by Rachel's revelation, and therefore there was no need, but Monroe was in new territory not following through on a threat, and he hated the way it felt.

"We're going to talk about that... _someday_ ," Monroe said absently, longingly eyeing her uneaten eggs, "But that's not why I'm here," he said wiping his hands and mouth with a napkin and perching on the edge of the table. She looked daggers at him, suspicion and loathing written all over her face. This wasn't going to be easy.

Monroe decided to get straight to the point, looking her in the eye so she'd see he was serious, "I need to question Randall and his team, and I need your help to do it."

Rachel raised a disbelieving eyebrow, "Why would you need _my_ help for that?" she said coolly, crossing her arms, " _Just_ arrest them," she sneered.

Monroe took a deep breath to keep himself under control; _why_ did Rachel have to be so difficult, "It's not that simple," he said seriously, "It goes beyond Randall and his scientists." Rachel looked surprised for a moment but then she reverted to her usual cold expression. Monroe paused a moment, absently sliding the tip of his thumb along the seam of his lips, thinking about how to tell her what he knew without saying how he got the information, "I've received information from a credible source that they're working with people outside the Republic."

"I don't care," Rachel scoffed.

Monroe stood and took a few steps toward Rachel, careful to stay out of her personal space; intimidation wasn't his goal this time, "You _should_ care, Rachel," he said firmly, but calmly,"Cause I'm not talking about some ineffective rebels who just want to take _me_ down." Monroe felt his temper beginning to flare and took a breath to reign himself in before continuing, "Flynn's people are _organized_ , they've been planning for years, and they want _all_ the Republics." Monroe saw he finally had her attention and paused for a second to let it sink in before he dropped the real bombshell, "And they _caused_ the Blackout."

Shock flashed across Rachel's face, but it was quickly replaced with her usual icy expression, "You're lying," she said flatly.

Monroe was tempted to throttle Rachel out of sheer frustration, but Charlotte's life ultimately depended on her cooperation. Getting himself under control _again_ , "I get it," Monroe said evenly, taking a step closer, "You hate me," she gave him a look that plainly said ' _you think?_ ', "and I deserve that," looking down for a second, "But, I _know_ you hate Flynn too. There's _gotta be_ a reason for that?" Monroe didn't care why Rachel hated Flynn, but reminding her of it _might_ get her to listen. "Even if you don't believe me, don't you think Flynn _should_ be questioned?"

Rachel looked at Monroe as if she wanted to ask him something, but she turned and looked out the window instead, seemingly lost in thought for a long moment, "Something _did_ go wrong that night," she conceded, so quietly he almost didn't hear her. She turned back to face him, looking determined -- pure Rachel Matheson, "What do you want me to do?"

"Keep Randall and his team busy in your workshop," Monroe said. Rachel looked uncertain, "I don't care how you do it," he said firmly, "Tell them you have a new idea or that you need them to help you work the bugs out of Sanborn's sonic cannon... anything! Just keep them occupied for a few hours." Rachel nodded in acknowledgement, smiling as if she had an idea.

"I want to be there when you _question_ him," Rachel said almost warningly.

"You got it," Monroe nodded. She would be valuable in determining whether Flynn was being truthful.

As Monroe left Rachel's quarters to go to his office, he realized a good faith gesture would be a good idea, so he paused to tell Rachel's guards to put back the woodstove and give back her CD's and player. Monroe found being magnanimous actually felt kind of good; besides, Flynn's people would be more likely to stay in the workshop if it was warm.

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Monroe went to his office and reviewed his files on the officers Jeremy recommended and then summoned them. All four had exemplary records, but two, Captains Hernandez and Grant, gave him pause since they were under Neville's command in Intelligence and Interrogations, but he decided to trust Jeremy's suggestions and move forward with them.

While waiting, Monroe wrote lists for each officer of the pertinent details from his mental notes on the Patriots. When they arrived, Monroe briefed them about the Patriots and Neville's treachery -- his reason for going around one of his longest-serving officers, handed out the lists, and ordered each to a specific task.

Major Jackson would be responsible for apprehending everyone on his list, and _anyon_ e found with them. Monroe made sure Jackson understood the arrests were to be made _quietly_ to prevent anyone from getting wind before they could be taken.

Captain Hernandez would gather and analyze the intel. Even though Monroe remembered everything he'd learned at the meeting, he still needed to know if they were working with anyone else and any additional details that could help in planning the eventual attack on Gitmo. Also, if any of the intel mentioned plans for the other republics by name, it could prove useful in future dealings with them.

Captain Grant would oversee the interrogations, with particular emphasis on the items on his list. Monroe told him to start with John Sanborn, citing that he seemed most likely to break quickly, and to save Flynn for last -- Monroe wanted to question him himself.

Colonel Epstein would help Monroe plan and coordinate the surveillance, ground recon, and attack. Her first task was to send a stealth surveillance drone to Guantanamo Bay to get a current overview of the area, transporting it to and from Florida as quickly as possible via post-Blackout means. It would take longer to get the photos than Monroe would like, but everything leading up to the attack needed to be done _quietly_ to avoid detection by the Patriots. She was also to start assembling the recon team and any necessary assets.

Before dismissing them, Monroe gave explicit orders that any family taken with the people on the list were not to be tortured -- only questioned and held until further notice, and that both Jackson and Grant were to check for a cyanide tooth and remove them from _everyone_ _before_ interrogation. He also ordered that anything they told their teams was _strictly_ 'need to know'. And Monroe told them to watch anyone in the Militia who was friendly with Wilson, Flynn, or Simpson -- rebel sympathizers weren't the only enemy within anymore.

Flynn and his team would be apprehended in Rachel's workshop after Jackson finished arresting the first two on his list. Before that happened though, there were three more traitors not on the list that Monroe felt he needed to take care of, personally.

As soon as the 'Fantastic Four', as Monroe codenamed them, left around 9:45 to carry out their orders, Monroe sent messengers summoning the Nevilles to his office. Since Christmas wasn't _officially_ recognized by the Republic, Tom and Jason were on duty like any other day and wouldn't be suspicious being summoned by the General on Christmas, but since Monroe never called for officers' wives, he'd had to send for Julia under the pretense that Tom needed to see her in his office.

While waiting, Monroe finally had a few minutes to eat something more substantial than a piece of dry toast. It was only a chicken sandwich on day-old bread and chicory coffee, but he'd found himself savoring it, even the so-called coffee, as if he hadn't eaten in days.

As he finished his sandwich and pushed the empty plate and cup aside, Monroe looked at the four soldiers already in position at both doors ready to seize Tom and Jason. Not long ago, the same men were there to follow different orders, orders Monroe regretted ever since. He'd acted rashly, executing Jeremy before the investigation was completed, but this time, Monroe had seen Tom and Jason's betrayal with his own eyes, so he would be justified to kill them. But the idea of killing _another_ old friend, even if Tom never was the friend Jeremy had been, and knowing Charlotte wouldn't forgive him for killing Jason, made Monroe decide they should be arrested now and dealt with later.

Though without the distraction his lunch had provided, the stress of waiting for word on Jackson's progress was making Monroe's mind wander into dark territory. He sat in his chair angrily gripping the armrests as he remembered Tom and Jason at that meeting. He didn't know what they'd been offered, but from his end, it looked like they'd turned against him pretty easily. Monroe knew he needed to tamp down his anger so he wouldn't act rashly again, so he tried to focus instead on his hopes for the future: a life with Charlotte and their children, and a better Monroe Republic. But, it wasn't easy.

A few seconds later, the door opened and Tom and Jason entered, stopping in front of Monroe's desk and standing at attention, "You asked to see us, sir?" Tom asked formally. Monroe had to steel himself to keep from just shooting them right there -- how did he never see how easily they'd betray him?

Monroe leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers contemplatively at his chin as he studied both men a long moment, deciding how best to proceed, "I'm told you had quite the evening," he said ominously, lacing his fingers.

"Sir?" Tom asked incredulously, pretending not to know what Monroe was talking about. Jason seemed unfazed, just continuing to stand at attention looking at Monroe.

"I know about your little meeting last night," Monroe said menacingly, leaning forward and nodding to the soldiers who moved to block both doors and drew their sidearms. Tom stiffened slightly, but didn't show any other sign of fear. Jason's eyes darted to the men at the side door, but then focused back on Monroe. They'd surely seen the men when they came in, but it wasn't unusual for Monroe's guards to be in his office, so they apparently hadn't realized the men were there _for them_ until now.

"Sir, if I may-," Tom began, his voice wavering only slightly.

"You were seen," Monroe interrupted almost yelling, his tone leaving no room for argument. Monroe wasn't sure, but he thought he saw Tom startle. Jason just looked between his father and Monroe nervously.

Tom had the nerve to argue anyway, "I found out Randall Flynn is working with the rebels and we were there to spy on them," he lied smoothly, "I was about to come make my report to you when I was summoned here." Did Tom _really_ expect Monroe to buy it? Monroe knew Tom was lying since if it had been true, Neville would've brought the information to him before proceeding with a 'spy mission'. Monroe couldn't abide lies; he glanced at the guards, considering giving _new_ orders.

Giving Neville a dangerous grin, "I know you're lying, Tom," Monroe said turning his chair to stand up, and walk toward the Nevilles. Monroe stood over Tom, "I promoted you, gave you the appointment you wanted, _even_ after you botched the _simple_ assignment of finding and bringing Ben Matheson here, and treachery is how you repay me?" Monroe almost shouted the last words. He was about to give the order to take them, but Neville had the gall to answer.

"I _was_ loyal to you, _sir_ ," Neville sneered, "until you became a lovesick fool, mooning over the Matheson girl," Tom spat. Neville nodded to the bruise on Monroe's jaw, "Trouble in paradise?She kick you to the curb?" he derided. Tom's disrespect of Charlotte angered Monroe to no end; he clenched his fists at his sides, ready to punch the man, but he held back.

Jason spoke up for the first time, "I did it for Charlie, he said angrily, "You _made_ her marry you!" he added disgustedly. Tom looked annoyed at his son, almost rolling his eyes.

Monroe chuckled mirthlessly, turning back to Tom, "Funny, your son seems to be a 'lovesick fool' too." Monroe couldn't resist that little jibe and he could tell Tom didn't appreciate it.

"I _should_ kill you for treason," Monroe said, looking between the two, " _But_...," he began, heading back to his chair and sitting down, "...I'm going to give you the chance I _wish_ I'd given Baker. Take them," Monroe ordered to the guards. The four men moved to seize the Nevilles.

Two of the men got hold of Tom, but Jason managed to draw his sidearm and point it at Monroe before the others could get to him. "Just let us go," he ordered, "and Charlie, too." Tom did roll his eyes then.

"You've got balls kid, I'll give you that," Monroe chuckled, unfazed. "Corporal Jessup," he called out and the side door opened, revealing the Corporal holding Julia by the upper arm, pointing a gun at her head, her hands cuffed behind her back. Monroe had known they wouldn't go quietly -- they needed an _incentive_.

It had the desired effect, " _Mom_!" Jason said shocked, letting the gun fall to the floor. Tom's eyes went wide upon seeing Julia being held by Strausser's protégé. They allowed themselves to be seized and disarmed, but not without Tom looking daggers at Monroe the whole time.

"What will you do to us?" Jason asked defeated.

"I haven't decided yet," Monroe answered matter-of-factly, "Get them out of my sight," he said disgustedly to the guards. Monroe couldn't help smirking as the Neville family was led out of his office. Julia shot him an angry look as she was led past his desk and out the main door, following the others. ' _Good riddance!_ ' Monroe thought.

Major Jackson walked in wearing a broad grin, plainly keeping his eyes averted from the traitors as they were led past. Wilson and Simpson were the only people on his list besides Flynn's team, so it hadn't taken long and apparently everything had gone smoothly. Monroe let out the breath he'd been holding and stood up, "Are your men in place?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes Sir!" Jackson answered, grinning.

Now it was time to take out the _rest_ of the trash.

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Monroe and Major Jackson arrived at Rachel's workshop, meeting up with Jackson's men waiting outside the only door. Monroe entered ahead of Jackson, followed by the men who dispersed around the room, Rachel's guards joining them, ready to make the arrests.

Unlike the day before, the workshop was comfortably warm and music was playing softly from the CD player on the workbench. Rachel was sitting next to the workbench on her stool arguing heatedly with Flynn, Sanborn, and one of Flynn's men whose name Monroe couldn't remember. It looked like the sonic cannon on the table in front of them was the source of the disagreement. The other two members of Flynn's team, a man and a woman, were farther down the bench, apparently building a new amplifier.

Rachel saw Monroe and Jackson first and immediately stopped arguing. Flynn noticed and followed her gaze, seeming unfazed to see Monroe and all the men. Sanborn and the other man however, were apprehensive, though that seemed to be Sanborn's baseline. These two would definitely be the first to break under questioning.

"Ah, General," Flynn said genially, "We've made a breakthrough on the sonic cannon," he said eagerly, "I was going to tell you about it at the meeting, but since you're here...," managing to sound condescending as always. Flynn's face fell suddenly, apparently finally seeing that Monroe was angry, but he recovered quickly, "To what do we owe this visit?" glancing smugly at Rachel as if he believed she was the intended 'target' of Monroe's ire.

Monroe stepped up to loom over Flynn, "I _think_ it's time you were properly _vetted_ ," he said threateningly, as Jackson's men surrounded Flynn and his people. Flynn appeared fearful as the men moved closer. Rachel moved to stand beside Monroe, her arms crossed and smiling smugly at Randall, reminding Monroe of a vulture eyeing its intended meal.

"Sir?" Flynn started, as two of the men grabbed his arms, then another forcibly opened his mouth, and yanked out his cyanide tooth. Sanborn and the other man Rachel had been arguing with were being similarly treated. Rachel looked at Monroe disgustedly, "What're you-," she began angrily; apparently she'd assumed they'd _just_ be arrested. Monroe nodded to the man who'd pulled the tooth from Flynn, indicating his hand, and he held it out for Rachel to see, effectively silencing her.

The other woman somehow managed to bite down on her tooth before Jackson's man could stop her. Seeing this, Rachel went to her, apparently trying to help, as the guards holding her let her limp weight fall to the floor, "Linda!" she exclaimed. Rachel watched in horror as the woman seemed to be dying in front of her, blood and saliva streaming from her mouth. "Who are these guys," Rachel asked, looking up at Monroe in horrified awe. Monroe knew she believed him now; nobody working for bunch of disorganized rebels had a suicide tooth.

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Monroe walked through Independence Hall, gathering his thoughts as he went to his quarters. Now that all the arrests were out of the way, Monroe figured it would take about ten days to get any solid information from the interrogations, analyze the intel, and study the surveillance photos of Gitmo, then the recon could be planned and deployed.

An assault on Gitmo couldn't be properly planned until that recon team returned, but Monroe found himself already considering the possible modes of attack: aerial, ground, sea... Nukes...? Based on what he'd heard at Flynn's meeting, the Patriots had access... ' _NO_ ,' he told himself, ' _I would be just as bad as they are_.' Still... it was tempting to obliterate them once and for all.

Monroe's tendency was to overthink when the stakes were _so high_ , so his fears that he might've missed something were also weighing heavily on his mind. He knew he needed a clear head to make the right decisions though, so he _had_ to put all those doubts to rest. In the past, it was Miles or Jeremy who'd help him do that, but now he had _Charlotte_.

Bass expected Charlotte to be spending the day with Danny, but he found her in their quarters sitting on the windowsill as her mother so often did, staring pensively out the window, clutching a small pillow to her chest. The way she was holding it reminded Bass that something had been bothering her the night before. He hoped she would tell him what it was, but he knew he'd have to wait for the right opening to ask.

She turned toward him as he approached, smiling, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Bass walked up beside her, "Not that I'm complaining...," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side, "But I thought you'd be with Danny?" he said pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek, "Did he have another attack?" he asked concerned.

"He's fine," Charlotte said cheerfully, pulling back slightly and looking up at Bass curiously. Monroe didn't often ask about Danny and she seemed surprised by his concern, "I spent the morning with him," she said. After a long moment, Bass was going to ask for more details, but she went on before he could, "He wanted a nap after lunch, so I came back here," she shrugged.

Looking out the window over her head at the park below, Bass realized something, "It occurs to me…," Bass began as he pulled away from Charlotte, "You haven't been outside since the wedding," he said walking over to the wardrobe. He hoped a change of scenery and some fresh air might get her to open up, and it was true she hadn't been outside in weeks, much to his shame.

"No?" she answered uncertainly. From the mirror, he could see her slide off the windowsill and start toward him tentatively.

Bass took her coat from the wardrobe, the one that matched his uniform coat, and held it up for her, ready for her to slide her arms into the sleeves. At her look of confusion, he clarified, "Let's go for a walk," Bass said, smiling happily.

As they started walking downstairs hand in hand, followed by all of their bodyguards, Charlotte looked up at Monroe, seemingly studying him as she had that morning for a few seconds before speaking, "How'd it go this morning?" she asked casually.

"Went like clockwork," Bass smiled proudly, "Flynn and his people are being questioned as we speak." At her look of distaste he quickly added, "They won't be tortured any more than strictly necessary," he said seriously. He meant it; it's partly why he wanted to start with Sanborn.

As they approached the front door of Independence Hall, Captain Hernandez walked up to Monroe, standing at attention and looking somewhat anxious. Fearing something was wrong, Monroe squeezed Charlotte's hand before letting go to ball his fist, "What is it Captain?" Monroe asked, unable to keep the concern from his voice.

"I thought you should see this, sir," Hernandez handed him a document. Monroe immediately realized it was in code, but not like any military code he'd ever seen; it was Arabic. He also noticed a symbol on it, an eye inside a pyramid. "This is just a sample, but everything we've found so far is like this," Hernandez said gesturing to the paper, "And Flynn and Simpson were wearing rings with that same symbol on it." Monroe had seen Flynn's ring, but he'd never thought anything of it.

"Do we have anyone who can translate?" Monroe asked, concerned, still looking at the paper. Monroe began to panic, all this progress just to be stopped by a 'code' nobody in the Militia could decipher.

"I can, sir," Hernandez said proudly, "My mother was from Egypt, she taught me," he added by way of explanation, "It'll take a little longer to go through it all since there's just me to read it, but you'll have your intel, sir," Hernandez added confidently. A wave of relief washed over Monroe and he released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Monroe knew Jeremy made his recommendations for a reason! Monroe smiled proudly at the officer.

Charlotte moved closer, "You took this from Flynn?" she asked Hernandez, "What's it say?" she asked, pointing to the paper in Monroe's hand.

Hernandez looked uncertainly at Monroe and he nodded his permission to speak in front of Charlotte. Charlotte hadn't ever been privy to the specifics in matters of State, but Jeremy had suggested Monroe should listen to her input and he found that he really did appreciate her interest and wanted to know what she thought.

"It outlines a plan to kill the infirm and _other undesirables_ ," Hernandez said disgustedly, looking between the two, "with some kind of engineered virus. Also says Flynn needs to make sure his people get vaccinated," turning to Monroe, Hernandez added, "We found an empty vial too."

Charlotte gave a look of disgust that turned to horror as realization struck her. She took a step back, looking between Monroe and Hernandez horrified, "Danny!" she exclaimed, barely above a whisper.

"Good work, Captain. Carry on," Monroe said handing the document back to Hernandez, "Oh," he began, "Tell the others," referring to the Fantastic Four, "to arrest anyone else they see wearing that symbol," Monroe ordered.

"Yes sir," Hernandez said saluting. He turned and hastily walked away.

Bass pulled Charlotte into an embrace, "It's ok Charlie," he said softly to the top of her head, "We stopped them before they could release it. Danny's safe," he said stroking her hair. After a minute, she stiffened and pulled back, still in his arms, looking up at him questioningly. She still seemed upset by Hernandez's revelation, but also surprised. "You prefer to be called Charlie, don't you?" Bass asked uncertain. She nodded, apparently stunned silent. "I just thought it was time I respected that," he smiled. She would always be Charlotte in Bass's mind, but if she preferred to be called Charlie, then he would call her Charlie.

"Thanks," she said hesitantly, "I guess I'm just not used to hearing you say it." After a long moment seemingly lost in thought, she spoke again, "Why _do_ you always call me Charlotte?"

Bass cupped her face with both hands, "Because it's such a beautiful name and you...," drawing her closer and kissing her forehead, "...are such a beautiful woman." She smiled warmly up at him. Bass's heart did a flip-flop at the sight; he wasn't sure he'd ever seen her _really_ smile.

"Ready?" Bass asked smiling back. Charlotte looked unsure, "To continue our walk?" Bass clarified, steering them toward the door. She nodded.

They walked in silence following half their guards through the door and into the cold mid-afternoon air to the park in front of Independence Hall, their remaining guards following; all eight protectively surrounded the couple. The sky was cloudy and Bass guessed the temperature was near freezing. There wasn't any fresh snow on the ground, though by the smell of the air, he thought it might snow that evening. Bass led Charlotte to his favorite bench under a tree near the statue of Commodore Barry; they sat down as the guards took watchful positions nearby.

Bass leaned back against the bench and put his arm around Charlotte, "Are you cold?" he asked.

"No," she said distractedly, without looking at him, as if lost in thought. "I'm ok," she added, glancing at Monroe and smiling.

Charlotte looked down at her gloved hands in her lap, and looked back up at Monroe, "So... what does all this do to your plans for _world domination_?" she asked wryly, one eyebrow raised.

Bass wasn't expecting that, but he should've; Charlotte had objected to Georgia's annexation from the start, so it stood to reason she'd oppose any further conquest. He looked her in the eye and took a deep breath, steadying himself as he remembered Ben showing him what his lust for power had wrought, before answering, "I'm not taking any more territory," Bass said simply, "I'm keeping Georgia, " he added quickly, "I just won't go after the other republics." Charlotte eyed him skeptically, clearly not quite believing him, so he explained further, "I want to make the Republic the safe place me and Miles wanted it to be in the beginning, and that'll be easier to do without more territory." It wouldn't be easy to give up the desire for power, especially since the continent was the legacy he'd wanted to give his children, but he'd do it for Charlotte, and Miles and Jeremy.

"What happened to you last night?" Charlotte blurted out, turning in her seat to fully face Monroe. "It wasn't just a nightmare," she said more calmly, "I mean people like you don't just wake up from a _dream_ with a change of heart," she paused to take a breath, "I _just_ want to understand what's changed," she said placating, as if she was afraid he was becoming upset. Bass could tell she wasn't going to let it go until she got an answer; just like her parents, she was too smart not to ask questions.

Monroe felt defensive for a moment; he usually lashed out at anyone who challenged him. But this was _Charlotte_ , he could see she wasn't trying to start a fight and he knew it was important for their future for him to talk to her. He couldn't tell her _everything_ about the night before though, so he decided to give her the CliffsNotes version.

Bass took her hands in his, hoping to reassure her he wasn't angry. After a long moment gathering his thoughts, "I don't remember all the details," he lied, keeping his tone even, "But you're right... it _wasn't_ like any dream I've _ever_ had before." Bass looked down at their joined hands and stroked hers with his thumbs, "Miles...," he trailed off, looking back up. Charlotte's eyes widened at the mention of her uncle, but Bass went on before she could interrupt, "...and some other old friends appeared to me, and showed me things that reminded me of the man I used to be. And they all warned me about Flynn," Bass paused for a breath, "I know. It's crazy," he added at her dubious look. He took a long moment to decide how to clarify before continuing, "It's like the doubts I've had all along about Flynn finally caught up to me in my sleep. And I woke up with this... _feeling_... that I needed to find out more about him, and that I need to change things... before it's too late," whispering the last words. ' _And Miles said he trusts me_ ,' Bass added silently to himself.

Charlotte smiled slightly, seemingly satisfied with his explanation, but Bass could tell there was another question coming, "How'd you get that bruise on your jaw?" she asked nodding to it.

Bass sighed inwardly, wishing, for only a moment, that she wasn't so smart, "I tripped and hit it on the end table," he said matter-of-factly, it wasn't a complete lie, but he couldn't tell her the whole truth either. She'd _never_ believe her dead uncle punched him.

"Why'd you act so strange when I touched it this morning?" Charlotte asked doubtingly.

"Coincidence," Bass said simply, "That happened to be the moment I remembered the dream and realized I needed to act," he shrugged. Still not a complete lie. He was _sure_ Charlotte wouldn't buy it at all though.

She studied him a long moment, "Ok," she said simply, seeming satisfied with his answers.

Charlotte turned to face forward again and Bass put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. They fell into a comfortable silence as they sat just enjoying the afternoon. She seemed to be enjoying the brisk, but fresh, air and happy to be outside again. Now was the right time for Bass to ask his question. He took in a deep breath, "Charlie?" he breathed into her hair.

"Hmm?" she murmured dreamily.

"I still want to know what's bothering you?" Bass said tentatively, "You were going to tell me last night before Flynn interrupted?" he clarified.

After a few moments awkward silence, Charlotte took a deep breath, "Well," she sighed resignedly, "you're going to figure it out eventually...," she trailed off as she pulled back to look at him for a second, "I think I'm pregnant," she said as she looked down.

Even though Bass already knew, _hearing_ her _say_ he was finally going to be a father left him speechless and he was sure he was wearing a big dopy grin. He moved his hand to caress her chin, coaxing her to look up at him, then leaned in to kiss her tenderly. She reciprocated, making Bass want to take it further, but he never would in public. A little PDA was fine, but making out in public? Not so much.

"So you're ok with it?" she hesitated. Bass nodded happily, still unable to speak. She took a relieved breath, "I wasn't sure how you'd take it."

Bass was about to suggest they go inside and continue their _discussion_ , but she spoke first, "You can call me Charlotte... _if_ you want," she paused, "once in a while," she amended facetiously. "I like how you say it," she almost whispered as she glanced down, as if she didn't want him to hear.

Charlotte shifted so she could lean against Bass and put her hand on his leg, laying her head on his shoulder as he tightened his arm around her shoulders. That moment, Bass realized she'd never shown him any affection; she would only react to his affection. She'd initiate sex sometimes, and was an _active_ participant, but she'd never just hug or kiss him or hold his hand without prompting. Bass knew he was probably delusional, but he couldn't help hoping this _small_ show of affection from her was a sign of things to come. That he'd made all the right decisions to build a better future for her and their family, _and_ their country. "I love you, Charlotte," Bass murmured, finally finding his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N2: This isn't the last chapter. There'll be one more chapter and an epilogue.  
> LadyH, sorry I didn't go with your idea of having Bass's personal doctor looking after Jason. It really was a good idea if I'd ended up going with the 'Jason is hurt' ruse since, of course, Bass would have his own doctor look after his officers' kids. But I decided Tom asking Julia to his office worked better -- keep ruses simple -- less to go wrong.


End file.
